The Only Way Out
by Latyon
Summary: After Mitchell’s home life suddenly turns to violence, he looks to Professor Oak to help him start a new life as a Pokémon trainer. Give it a chance, this story won't disappoint. Rated M for language, violence, and strong sexual content. Chapter 12 up.
1. The Model Kanto Family

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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Chapter 1 ~ The Model Kanto Family

The twilight had just barely grazed the small town of Pallet, and from the outside all seemed at peace. All of the town's residents were returning home after the long, hot day of work. An overweight man sat near the shore with his fishing line dancing in the water, his gaze locked on the boat that sat on the horizon, gradually approaching the town. It was a boat privately owned by a business that worked on the nearby Cinnabar Island that allowed workers to live in the peaceful setting of Pallet without sacrificing their high-paying jobs. Men and women cycled in from the path to the north, Route 1, also returning from their daily shift in the city of Viridian. It seemed that no one spoke that day. The rustling of leaves in the gentle wind and the occasional plop of the water as a Magikarp surfaced truly defined the general feel of the town. No one could hear the noises coming from the Direnetti household in the northwest part of town.

Outside the house, a teenage boy sat up against the wall next to the front door, his head turned and staring in through the semi-transparent curtains. Even if he hadn't been looking, he knew what was going on inside. This was the house of the boy's best friend, Mitchell Direnetti, a seventeen year old with whom he had grown up. No one traveled near this quiet part of town with most of the housing located to the south, particularly in the southeast where Professor Oak had set up his laboratory. No one was exposed to what this boy, Kenneth Adler, heard about and saw on a nearly daily basis.

The action had moved into the living room, which sat off on the right hand side of the central hallway that Kenny was peeking into. He could see Mitchell's mom standing in the hallway, one of her hands covering her eyes. Even through the tan curtain he saw her face, nearly glowing red and streaming with tears. She was sobbing but trying to hold it back when she could, shouting into the living room at something. Angered, deep shouting boomed back at her and her streams of tears turned to rivers. She reached for her cell phone and began dialing a number.

This was where it suddenly became much different from what Kenneth was accustomed to seeing. As Amber turned around and began to mouth something to whoever was on the other end of the line, her husband flew out of the living room and backhanded her across her already red face. A bruise began to form where his ring impacted her cheekbone, but this was not the extent of his rage. He took the phone and threw it as hard as he could at the front door. Kenneth could hear the individual pieces hit the cold tile and watched as Edward Direnetti lifted his wife from the spot that she had fallen and punched her again on the other side of her face. She screamed for help, but the house was too far for anyone to hear her cries. Kenneth was too shocked by what he was seeing to think to go in and help her. It was really a shame, to have Amber's beauty, talent, and charm wasted serving the pig of a man that Edward was. He did not need to work since inheriting his dead father's fortune and told Amber that she wouldn't have to either. Since the marriage, she had done nothing but work. Whether it was cleaning, mowing the lawn, the laundry, cooking, or bedtime chores, she never caught her break. She spent her nights crying herself to sleep, hoping that one day she might be able to escape from him.

Edward picked her up off the ground again and pulled his fist back, his shiny silver double width ring gleaming in the light. Kenneth had finally recovered from the intense awe at what Edward had done and was standing up now, readying his body for a charge through the front door. Amber was too nice of a woman to have to deal with this any more. Kenneth positioned himself like a football player and backed up, when he heard yet another scream from inside. This one was loud enough for him to hear each word clearly.

"Get off Mom!" he heard. The teenager looked back in through the window in time to see Mitchell suddenly standing behind his father, his lean muscular arms gripping his father's retracted forearm. He twisted it over his father's head and dropped to his knees forcefully, hearing a sinisterly satisfying crack as Edward's radius snapped in half. Edward let out a feral roar of pain and rage and dropped Amber, who rushed into the living room, probably to grab the landline. Whoever she had been talking to must have been confused, possibly scared for her. When they couldn't reach her cell phone any longer, they would phone for the police.

Edward snapped his other arm backward and slammed his fist into Mitchell's chest, dropping him to the floor. He was fueled by adrenaline and did not feel the pain from the powerful punch and stood back up, grabbing his father by the shoulders and kneeing him in the groin. His eyes rolled up in their sockets and he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. His son pulled his leg up to his chest and kicked forward, driving his heel into his father's forehead and leaving him unconscious on the hallway floor. The thud of Edward's limp body began a period of eerie silence for Kenneth, who stopped and stared at the man. Was he dead? His useful arm twitched.

Inside, Amber was lying down on the couch, her head propped up on a throw pillow. A table lamp was on and shining in her direction, the light showing how discolored and bruised her face had become. It was already swelling, but thankfully there was no blood. Mitchell was moving in a rushed manner, looking around the living room frantically. Amber was fading in and out of consciousness and mumbling something to Mitchell, but he could not make anything out of it. He wasn't trying, either. All he knew was that he was going to get out of there.

Why had everything escalated so suddenly? It didn't help that Edward was drunk, as usual. Amber had not said a thing to him. She was too afraid. Mitchell kept telling her that he needed to get out of there, but she insisted that he stay. When Mitchell turned ten, nearly all of the town's children his age had left to become Pokémon trainers. Of everyone he could remember, only he and Kenneth had stayed behind. Kenneth did not want to become a Pokémon trainer like everyone else. He wanted to stay in Pallet and study under Professor Oak. Mitchell wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, and becoming a Pokémon trainer was the quickest way. Amber supported him as much as she could. Edward told him that he would not leave Pallet as long as he lived. Over the years, Amber slowly began to tell Mitchell that he could not leave, either. She had a much different reason. She feared that Edward would kill her if Mitchell were allowed to leave.

What had happened today was different, though. Edward had commanded his son to start digging a hole in the backyard so that he could install a pool. Kenneth had been there only seconds before the pounding on the locked bedroom door began. He slipped out through the window and sat on the roof over the garage, his head just below the windowsill. He heard everything that went on. He felt responsible, somewhat, for what went on that night had been because of an idea he had presented to Mitchell. The lock on the door gave and Edward came through the door, looking over at his son. Mitchell was tall, standing around six feet, just under his father's height. He was stretched out on his bed in a pair of sweats with no shirt on, showing his toned and tanned body. He had a youthful, handsome face and piercing blue eyes under his well-groomed brown eyebrows. His hair was short and messy. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared his father deep in the eyes, his expression changing to one of disgust and malice. His father reiterated his command.

"Fuck off," he told his father, "Why don't you get off your fat rich ass and do it yourself?"

It had been Kenneth's idea, to stand up to Edward regardless of what Mitchell had to say or do. Make him feel threatened, subordinate, maybe instill a little fear in him. His abuse of power had gone on for too long. But it didn't work. Edward's fury grew increasingly as Mitchell denied his demands. Edward stomped over to Mitchell's bedside and grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head. He spat in his face and threw him to the floor and kicked his side.

"You'll learn to regret saying those things to me, you fucking arrogant teenager. Get the fuck outside and start digging my pool,"

Mitchell stood up and clenched his teeth and fists. Edward seemed unafraid. Mitchell told his father that he was going to leave and never come back. That was where the screaming and the yelling began. Mitchell reached for a nearby shirt and his beanie and walked quickly down the stairs as he pulled on the clothes. His cell phone was still in his room, in the back pocket of his jeans that sat in a wrinkled pile at the foot of his bed. His wallet was in there, too. Now that he was actually thinking through it, he had left a lot of his stuff upstairs that he was going to need. He turned around to go back up and get it, but Edward was right there behind him, his girth blocking off the narrow stairwell. By now, Amber had seen them and was coming down the hall, her face becoming red and teary when she realized that they were going to fight again. Edward saw her and barked at the top of his voice that she had put these ideas in his head to leave home. He pushed Mitchell down the stairs and stepped on the boy's arm as he barreled toward his wife, his mouth flowing with curses toward her and the entire female gender. Mitchell did not think that he would actually hit Amber, not yet at least. But he knew the perfect distraction. At the close end of the living room sat one of the biggest televisions that Mitchell had ever seen, Edward's baby. He sat in front of that thing all day and night, never bothering to get up from the chair unless he was in need of a sexual favor from Amber. Right next to it there was a small wooden stool.

Mitchell grabbed the stool and swung it ferociously into the screen, only denting it the first time but sending the stool completely inside the second. The sound of his baby being destroyed incited anger inside of him that Edward had never known before. He turned his attention from his cowering wife and ran into the living room where Mitchell stood in front of the destroyed TV. He screamed at Mitchell and approached him with a heavy book from a nearby table and brought it up high above his head.

"No, don't touch him!" Amber cried out to her husband. He stopped for only a split-second, glancing back at his wife.

"You're next, you filthy cunt, so shut the fuck up or I'll come over there right now! You wait your turn!"

Amber pulled out her cell phone and dialed her mother's number, realizing that she could not go to sleep in that house tonight. Edward saw this and flew after her, destroying the phone and beating his wife. Kenneth had seen most of this from outside the front door, though Mitchell was not even sure that Kenneth was still there. Now, the teenager was the only one fully conscious in the house. He was going to let his mother rest for a while before helping her get out of there. He would not spend another night under his father's roof.

Mitchell looked into the reflective surface of the table lamp and saw a bruise on his face forming as well. He touched it lightly with one hand and remembered the book slamming across his face. It didn't sink in that he may have killed his father. He only knew he was going to save his mother, whatever it took, and then he would get as far away from Pallet Town from possible.

Mitchell walked back into the entry hall and looked at his father, who had landed in an awkward position and was lying with one arm tangled up in his legs, the other falling away from his body. He could see the bone sticking up underneath the skin where Mitchell had broken it. This sight would be the last one he saw of his father, and a satisfying one it was. It only took a minute or so upstairs for Mitchell to grab everything he needed; his phone, his wallet, a lighter and some cigarettes, and an extra set of clothes. He stuffed it all into his backpack and put it on, walking down the stairs and stepping over his father's body. There was a pharmacy not too far away, and they would have first aid supplies. Edward had never bothered to go out and buy a kit for the house in case of accidents.

As he passed through the front door, he saw Kenneth standing off to the left, at the end of the porch. He was wearing clothing very similar to Mitchell's. His beanie covered a mess of shaggy blonde hair, which hung over his brown eyes and high forehead. He wasn't as tall as Mitchell but was in healthy fighting shape, his muscles showing even through the dark blue sweater he wore. He had an amount of stubble on his chin but it wasn't visible anywhere else on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing the large bruise on the side of his friend's face. Mitchell was happy that he had stuck around to see the fighting. Now there was someone in town to testify in court that Edward had beaten Amber aside from Mitchell. Mitchell could leave town with no worries now.

"Can you stick around here and make sure she's alright? Just hang out near the window, don't go in. If Dad wakes up then call me and I'll get back here as fast as I can. But if he hurts her," Mitchell stopped, as if he was thinking something over. He was. It was something he had considered every day of his life, something that would have ended the family's misery long ago if he had had the courage to just act.

Mitchell slipped his hand into his backpack and pulled out a shining 9mm pistol and handed it to Kenneth.

"Kill him,"

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Author: Well, I think that's a good place to stop for Chapter 1. I'll tell you; yesterday I had no idea I would be sitting here writing this today. I'm not too much of a Pokémon fan, but I've always been in love with the originals, and FireRed and LeafGreen (since they are almost as simple and fun). Yes, I know, there was a lot of cussing, a lot of violence. The cussing will tone down. I won't say it was exclusive to this chapter, but I don't think there will be nearly as much of it all at the same time anywhere else in this fanfic. In the next chapter Mitchell will return home from the pharmacy and come upon some unfortunate happenings at the house.

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	2. A Shot in the Dark

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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By the time Mitchell had gotten to the pharmacy, the sun had set halfway. The city streets were now bright with the warm colors of sunset, brilliant oranges and vibrant reds and yellows. The streetlights, set on a timer, had just flickered to life but were not powerful enough to make an impact with the sun still visible. Few people ventured out into the streets, but those who did were working their ways toward the stores, out to get a couple of ingredients for the night's supper. Mitchell made no attempt to cover up his bruise, partly because he did not know how bad it was and if anyone would notice. He stepped through the door as it slid open in his presence and gave a friendly nod to the nearby cashier, who saw his bruise and began staring. She looked nice enough, and those big almond eyes staring at Mitchell so inquisitively just made him want to talk to her. She reminded him of a kitten. But he didn't have time for her, with his mother lying unconscious and still in the same place as his father.

Now that he was at his destination, he wasn't sure what he should buy. Alcohol? Would that work? He didn't know, but he grabbed it anyway and dropped it into the plastic basket he had grabbed on the way in. Bandages were unnecessary, he thought, but he did need some cotton balls for the alcohol. As he walked, he saw more and more products that he could not tell were necessary. He came to a shelf with bottles of store-brand ibuprofen and grabbed three. He would leave one with his mom and take the other two with him when he left, just in case. Now that he thought about it, he might as well take the entire store with him. As far as he knew, he could be lying injured in a forest somewhere with no one there to help him. The journey couldn't be too unsafe, could it? If ten year olds were allowed to roam freely, then it shouldn't be overly dangerous.

"Umm, sir? If I may interrupt your search, you might want to just get some ice packs and a bottle of acetaminophen for pain relief, if you're trying to get rid of that bruise," he heard from the front. It was the voice of the cashier. She sounded exactly how Mitchell would have expected if he hadn't been preoccupied with other matters, helpful and caring. The boy set this basket on one of the shelves and left it there, grabbing a bottle of acetaminophen and two ice packs. He didn't know how many he would need, having never performed first aid before. He walked over to the cashier and set the items on the counter while she rang them up.

"Are you a trainer?" she asked, grabbing a plastic bag from the roll below the counter and scanning the medicine. He shook his head.

"Really? You look like you would be one. Does that hurt?"

She was a curious one, but Mitchell had seen that in her eyes when he had walked inside the store. Her auburn hair was in a tussle, as if she had just lost something important and spent a couple of hours searching for it desperately, but she seemed calm and collected. Her fingernails were painted black and she wore a light eye shadow, her lips pink and full. According to the nametag she had on her left side, her name was Joanna.

"Yeah, a little bit. Happened a few minutes ago. Maybe half an hour, tops," he replied, watching her set the bag full of stuff on the counter and read the price off of the cash register.

"That'll be 54 credits, sir," she told him, and he reached for his wallet. He pulled out his credit card and paid for the supplies, completely forgetting that he still had bottles of ibuprofen in his backpack. Joanna flashed him a pretty smile and told him to have a good evening, stopping him just before he stepped through the front doors.

"Wait!"

He looked back at her, suddenly realizing that he had almost committed theft. He expected to see a condescending and scornful gaze on her face, but she hadn't seen him take the bottles in the first place. She bent over once satisfied that he was not leaving and reached under the counter, pulling out a small red and white ball. There was a box under her counter that had at least twenty more of them, all of them about the size of a golf ball until the button on the front was pressed. She tossed it to him and he caught it as it bounced off of the bruise on his chest, sending small waves of pain throughout his body. He held it in his palm and looked back up at her smiling face, his own expression seeming to ask why she had given it to him.

"Even if you aren't a trainer, they can make really good pets. That's on the house," she said. He smiled back at her and walked through the door, hearing the alarm start up before Joanna deactivated it.

"Must've been the Poké Ball!" she called after him, and he broke into a run, wanting to get back home as soon as possible. The light was fading quickly and Mitchell was not completely familiar with this part of town. He would have to go through the trees, those dark foreboding oaks that could house anything. He wasn't usually allowed out of the house, period. The only times he had ever come through here were when he was with his parents. These woods held memories of pain, hard and repeated across his body. His father took him out here to beat him on his generous days. "At least I let you out of the house," he would always say. The prick.

The night had engulfed the trees completely, the waning gibbous of the moon casting what light it could on the dark soil around Mitchell's feet as he ran toward his house. How long had he been gone? An hour or less, it hadn't felt any longer. But it was easy to lose track of time when he had so much going on in his mind; his mother's injuries and safety, the possible, though justified in his eyes, murder of his father, the pump of adrenaline in his veins after he had knowingly stolen medicine from a store, and the possibility that even if his father had not died, he very well might soon.

He could now see the lights streaming out from inside his house through the windows. His mother was still lying sound asleep on the couch, the angle that Mitchell was looking in at displaying her perfectly. He would have to get a little bit closer to see if his father was still down, which seemed likely if his mother hadn't been touched in the time that the teenager was away. He stepped out of the trees and into the small clearing around the house and saw sudden, frantic movement away from the porch. It was Kenneth. He jumped down the four steps that led up to the porch and started running away, but his pace seemed awkward. In the dim light, Mitchell realized that Kenneth was running backwards, his arms extended out in front of him and clasping a small metal object that was pointed at the front door.

The silence of the night was broken by the sound of the front door being blown off of the hinges by a powerful tackle from inside, then the resounding boom from the end of a rifle that protruded from the new opening. A split-second later, there was a pained scream and Kenneth's shadow collapsed to the ground in a heap, somersaulting over itself down a small incline until his came to a rest in the damp grass below. The rifle came out a little further and Mitchell could see his father standing at the other end, loading up another shell and whimpering in pain with every movement that strained his broken arm. Mitchell stared disbelievingly at his friend, who now lay motionless. He screamed.

Another gunshot rang in the air and Mitchell felt the skin on the side of his neck split open and start to burn, warm fluid trickling from the shallow gash and pouring down his neck and onto his brown shirt. His hand shot up to cover the slice and he ran back down the path and into the forest. The bullet had only grazed him, thankfully. But Kenneth, half-conscious in the grass, had not fared so well. The bullet missed all internal organs but was lodged in between his ribs, dangerously close to his heart. He panted for breath involuntarily and lapsed into a deep sleep, feeling the warm blanket of his own blood covering his shirt and seeping into the thick sweater. A warning shot was fired from the rifle into the air, causing a flock of slumbering birds – Pidgeys – to fly up out of a tree and into the night sky, headed north to Viridian City.

"If I ever catch you around here again I'm gonna blow you and your mom's head off, boy!" the threat came, the voice angry and hoarse. Mitchell slumped down against the tree as the first of the tears fell, the tears of mourning for his dead friend who had only been in the line of fire because Mitchell had asked him to take care of his mom. His family troubles had stolen the rest of Kenneth's life away, a life that could have yielded so much in the fields of science and biology. The rest of the tears came pouring out, from pain and knowledge that he had failed his mother. She would be beaten more and more as the days came and went. Mitchell couldn't allow it to happen. His father would pay.

As soon as he saw his father's silhouette on the upstairs windows, Mitchell stood up on shaky legs and began to walk along the tree line to his friend's body. Now he could see the expression on Kenneth's face. It was contorted into an expression of pain and covered in dirt. One of his eyes was half-open and the eyelid twitched rhythmically. The index finger of his right hand was still wrapped around the trigger of the 9mm, its silver finish gleaming in the moonlight. As Mitchell approached, he tried to choke back a torrent of tears but could not. He sobbed quietly for his friend, reaching for the gun and taking it away slowly. Kenneth's hand fell limp when his finger slipped off of the gun and landed in the grass. His breathing quickened and his eyes shot open, inciting a brief, shocked cry from Mitchell.

"Kenny!" he said quietly, but Kenneth only shook his head. His eyes closed back up and he lay there breathing for minutes before he finally said anything.

"I think I did a good job," he said, his teeth now showing through his slight grin. Mitchell looked at him confusedly.

"You said protect your mom, right? I did it," Kenneth tried to explain, but Mitchell did not know what he was talking about. Edward was awake and in pain. That, coupled with the destroyed TV, only meant that he would be angrier. With Amber unconscious, who knew what would happen to her soon. Kenneth tried to sit up but felt the bullet in his chest and stopped, then lowered himself back down into the grass. He clenched his teeth and hissed through them to ease the pain.

"I talked to her a few minutes ago. I went in, I know you told me not to but I did. I couldn't see if she was breathing. So I went in, and she woke up and saw me and she didn't remember me, so I said I was Kenneth and that you went to go get something for her bruises and she smiled. Then, I heard your dad start screaming and told your mom to pretend she's asleep until your dad came outside, then go out the back and get the police. I climbed out the window and started banging on the door and he thought I was you and came after me with that rifle he kept over the mirror in the front hall. I tried to shoot him first but he shot me right when he knocked the door down. When your mom heard the door come down she ran out the back door, now she should be going to the police. We can…chill, while she's gone," Kenneth explained. Mitchell looked at him, awed by his heroic deed. The injured boy smiled at him and turned his head away from the light, covering his face with one arm.

"It's not deep. I think I'm gonna be okay," he said. Mitchell looked at the part of Kenneth's chest where the bullet looked like it had gone in. It looked like it had just missed his heart.

"Don't move. I'll be back in a minute," Mitchell told Kenneth, standing up with the gun in his hand. The slide had not locked back, so he had at least one bullet left. Kenneth had not fired any and it was full when he had given it to him, so it very likely had all fifteen shots. But he might need these bullets in the coming days. Overkill was unnecessary. But the fallen hero would be avenged.

"Where are you going?" Kenneth asked, propping himself up on one shoulder and grimacing as he rose his upper body to get a better view of Mitchell, who was now running toward the house. Kenneth's mouth opened to scream for the other boy to stop, but his voice did not come out. If he screamed, Edward would hear. Edward would then kill Mitchell. But it seemed that once Mitchell was inside, one of the two would never set foot outside again. Kenneth sighed and slowly lowered himself, letting gravity do the work little by little.

Mitchell stepped over the fallen door and walked through the frame, entering his old home. Even though it had been less than an hour since he had been inside, it felt very surreal to him, and a tad foreign. For once, he heard something in there that he had never heard before. Silence. The sounds of explosions, screams, and the jingle of the nightly newscast were all gone. He could not even hear his father's loud snoring. For a split-second, he stopped and took it all in. This would be the last time he would ever set foot in this building. It would be a very memorable experience.

The floor over the living room groaned. It angered Mitchell because it had broken the silence, but also because that was where his room was. Edward was doing something in his room. He looked down at the gun and clicked the safety on and off a few times before leaving it off. The door to the bedroom upstairs squeaked as it slowly opened. Mitchell smiled. Good thing he had never decided to fix that door. He placed his foot on the first carpeted step and lowered his weight onto it slowly, so it would not creak. He repeated this for each step until he reached the top, his pistol preceding him. He could see the light on through the crack of his old bedroom door. His father was standing near Mitchell's computer, picking up small square objects and lighting them on fire. His photographs.

"Don't touch those!" Mitchell screamed, his father turning around with a shocked look on his face as the boy barreled through his door, the knob slamming into the sheetrock behind it and breaking through. Edward dropped the flaming picture, which stayed in the air long enough for Mitchell to see his and his first girlfriend's faces igniting.

Edward grabbed his rifle, which was resting against the side of the bed, and tried to turn it to face his son. Mitchell was too fast and slammed the butt of his 9mm into the side of his father's head, knocking him to the ground. He moaned in agony as looked at the rifle that fell from his hands. Mitchell bent down and picked it up, cocking it and aiming at Edward's head.

"On your knees," he commanded, and his father obeyed, for the first time in the middle-aged man's life. The teenager faltered for a moment when he realized that his dad had actually listened, then regained his composure and kept his malicious gaze on the man.

"You wouldn't," Edward spat. So, even in the face of death he wouldn't stand down from a challenge.

"Oh, trust me, Edward-"

"Dad."

"-I've been waiting for this for years now. What makes you think I won't do it after how you've treated Mom and I all these years? Look at me, Edward. I don't play any sports, why do I work out? Do you want to know why? So that one day I could fuck you up as much as you've fucked us up!"

Edward shifted his weight as if he was going to stand, but Mitchell pushed the gun closer to his face and he stopped moving.

"I'll give you ten seconds to apologize for everything. And I might kill you anyway," Mitchell told him. Edward looked at his son like he was insane.

"If you're going to kill me anyway then I'm not gonna apologize!"

"Fine. Ten. Nine. Five,"

"You said ten!"

"Apologize!"

"NO!"

"Four. Three,"

"You won't pull that trigger, you fucking pussy,"

"Two-"

"If you pull that trigger you'll go to prison for the rest of your life!"

"One."

Edward cringed as Mitchell pulled the trigger as hard as his finger would let him, bracing for the recoil of the gun. There was no boom, no splatter. Mitchell looked at his father disbelievingly, noting the sadistic glare that Edward gave him.

"Oops. Forgot to load," he said, moving again to stand up. Mitchell screamed and slammed the butt of the rifle into Edward's face, knocking him into the wall and down to the floor, unconscious yet again. His broken arm seemed even more twisted than it had downstairs. A small orange glow on the floor near Mitchell's foot alerted him to the small fire that had started on the carpet, the source being the photo, which still sat in a charred mess in the center of the flames. The teenager considered leaving the fire there, to let it consume the house and his father with it. No, he couldn't do it. He had to think about his mother. Where would she live, if her house was destroyed?

He took his handgun back out and pointed it at Edward's head, his finger wrapped around the trigger.

"Bang," he said, stomping out the fire and turning to leave the room.

Kenneth was now rolled onto his side, a small black notepad in front of him on the ground. He carried it with him everywhere he went. It was his research pad of sorts. Professor Oak had given this one about a month before, when he had gone to apply for an internship at the lab. He was supposed to go out around Pallet and document everything he could about the native Pokémon, and then bring the pad back to Oak in one month's time. That month would be over the next day. He wouldn't be getting the job in this state.

With a small black pen, Kenneth scrawled a note that he wanted Mitchell to take to the professor.

Dear Prof. Oak,

You may remember me from one month ago. My name is Kenneth Adler, and I am an aspiring biologist. I came to you a month ago requesting an internship and you told me to go out and document everything I could about the native Pokémon in and around Pallet Town. When you get this, I'll probably be in the hospital. I'm giving this pad to my friend Mitchell, who will deliver this and the Charmander you lent me for protection back to you. You may review it at your leisure, since I will likely be in recovery for some time.

I have a request, however. If you review this pad and find it satisfactory, I would ask that you give the Pokédex that I would have received to Mitchell. He's had some family problems and has decided to leave Pallet Town to become a Pokémon trainer. I believe that the Pokédex will be invaluable to him, since he is new to the world of Pokémon and may not know enough about them to become good at what he wants to do.

Mitchell came walking out of the house as Kenneth finished writing his note. He reached around his back and grabbed the Poké Ball that was clipped to his belt. The Charmander had served him very well. He kissed the ball goodbye and felt the warmth of the Pokémon in response. It felt good on his hands, which were beginning to grow cold.

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Author: And so ends Chapter 2. Read and review, people, I'd love to hear feedback from the readers. Notice that I kept my promise and toned down the language? Yeah, I figured it wouldn't make much sense for Mitch and Joanna to have a cussing match. The next Chapter will involve the delivery of the letter, Mitchell's starter, and (possibly) the meeting with the rival.


	3. Just What the Doctor Ordered

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, I just have to stay here until the police and ambulances come and stuff. Take those to Professor Oak; if he's asleep then tell one of the aides to let you in. If you see a blonde scientist girl who works at the computer near the door, tell her Kenny sent you, she'll open it," Kenneth told his friend, who had just come out of this house with the gun in his hand. The injured boy looked up at him, and he asked if Mitchell had done it.

"He's still alive,"

That was a relief to Kenneth. It wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world to be a Pokémon trainer with the cops sniffing around. He tried to shift himself onto his side – he had never been a fan of sleeping on his back – but it was too painful for him to complete the turn. Mitchell held the tiny ball that Kenneth had given him in his hand, his thumb lightly grazing the button on the front. He wanted to open it, to see what was inside. Around Pallet Town, he had never seen anything but Pidgey and Rattata, not to mention the Magikarp and Tentacool that were routinely reeled in from the coast. But if the Pokémon inside did not know what had happened to his temporary owner, then Mitchell didn't want to let it see his blood-soaked human companion in this position.

"I'm not just gonna leave you in this field," Mitchell told Kenneth. Kenneth smiled.

"Still protective as hell," he said, "Go on, just get that stuff to Oak. Your mom is probably close to the station by now, the ambulance will show up too,"

"No, you aren't staying here," Mitchell said again, this time with a bit of authority in his voice. Kenneth looked at him disbelievingly. He could tell that the boy was getting hostile by the way his knuckles whitened. What was he going to do, punch his friend who had just been shot?

"Seriously, Mitchell, I'll be better off here on the ground than I would be if you were carrying me. No offense, I mean, think for a second. If the ambulance comes, it'll rush me to the hospital. If you carry me, it'll be hours before anyone even knows anything's wrong with me. Your mom heard the shot; I don't think there's a person in twenty miles who didn't hear me scream, so the ambulance will come here, not into the woods where they might not be able to find me. I'm gonna be okay, stop thinking that if you leave me here, you're leaving me to die,"

Mitchell gritted his teeth and felt a flash of heat from the ball. He looked at it and squeezed it tightly. Every fiber of his being wanted to grab the bloody boy and haul him into town, but his mind was screaming to him not to. With a defeated sigh, Mitchell pushed the button on the Poké Ball. A steady pulsing that increased in temperature had followed the flash of heat. The Pokémon inside obviously wanted out. Almost immediately after the ball grew into its larger size, about the same as a baseball, it popped open and a beam of red lunged outward, splattering to the ground like some kind of glowing liquid. It began to rise from the grass and draw itself back together, forming a two-foot blob that hardened very quickly. The energy turned orange and textured like small scales, almost invisible to the untrained eye. Its eyes formed, like vibrant blue sapphires against a velvet background. A tail sprouted from one end and suddenly ignited on the end. It stared up at Mitchell as if gazing upon its mother for the first time, studying every detail of his face, his clothes, his posture. It closed its eyes and seemed to smile at the teenager.

"Charmander, take him to Professor Oak," Kenneth told the Pokémon. It looked back to see its owner on the ground and smiled at him as well, before seeing the fresh blood on his sweater. The Pokémon's eyes bulged and he roared at the top of his lungs, rushing on his short reptilian legs to Kenneth.

"No, Charmander, go to Oak. I'll be fine," Kenneth told the Pokémon, but it stood firm, leaning over the boy and placing its hands on the side farthest from the bullet.

"Okay, hug," Kenneth said. His voice sounded like he was tiring rapidly, but he wrapped one arm around the Charmander's neck and embraced it. Mitchell couldn't help but smile. Kenneth was a good person, despite a not-so-good background. If he were not successful in pursuing his career as a researcher, he would be terrific in a caretaking position. This Charmander had developed what seemed like a deep and loving relationship with the human it was protecting over the course of only a single month. It was very touching for Mitchell, who only knew the bittersweet love he shared with his family; the sweet part was his mother, while his father was the bitter.

"Okay, fine, I'm going. But you're not dying today, you got that?" Mitchell said, stepping closer and crouching down, extending his hand for a final handshake before departing. Kenneth grabbed it and shook, his grip firm and strong, his skin cool to the touch. They let go and saluted each other before Mitchell began to walk away. Charmander stumbled over to the Poké Ball and picked it up, waving his tail at Kenneth and smiling. That look always made Kenneth go googly-eyed with joy. Such a cute little lizard; if Kenneth wasn't lying there in the grass, then he would've never let Mitchell have it. But Kenneth knew that there wasn't much more time that he could have spent with the Pokémon anyway. The cold of night was setting in, and it wasn't helping the boy. He closed his eyes and felt consciousness fading, the whole time afraid that it wasn't sleep that was encompassing him. With a final deep breath, his world faded to black.

Mitchell kept his eyes set straight on the path back into town, but the treetops blocked off the moonlight and made it very hard for him to see exactly what he was walking on. The light of Charmander's tail drew his eyes like a moth, and every time he found himself looking down at the Pokémon he saw it looking straight up at him. In a way, it was unnerving. The expression alone made Mitchell think that the Charmander had some kind of knowledge of something that Mitchell did not, and that it was waiting for him to ask about it. The teenager turned his sight back to the road and started to think of how close the police were by now, or how far his mom had gotten. It had only been a few minutes, but his mom was a fast runner. One of her hobbies was running, but since she was not allowed outside she practiced on her treadmill. So far, she had not found a setting she couldn't run against for less than a minute.

"Char," the Pokémon said. Mitchell looked down at it, and it stopped. It cocked its head as if confused.

"Huh?" Mitchell asked. He knew that Charmander wouldn't respond to him. He turned back around and kept walking, noting that Charmander was keeping up because the light was still circled around.

"Char," he heard again, and turned around to face Charmander, who turned around and looked into the darkness. It looked back at Mitchell again and cocked its head. Mitchell did the same thing, even though he was honestly unsure of what was going on. Charmander looked up ahead and pointed down the path. Mitchell looked where the Pokémon had pointed, but saw nothing.

"What?" he asked, looking back at where Charmander had been standing, but the lizard was gone. It didn't take long to find him, though; the glow from his tail was visible from behind the bush he had hidden behind.

"Charmander, I see you," Mitchell told him, slightly annoyed now. He kept walking down the path and waited a few seconds for the Pokémon to follow, but he did not.

"Charmander," Mitchell yelled, but the Pokémon was unresponsive.

"Charmander!"

Charmander remained in hiding.

"What do you want me to say? Olli olli oxen free?"

Charmander launched out of the bush with a happy screech and rushed on all fours toward his new owner, wrapping himself around Mitchell's leg. The Poké Ball was in his mouth.

"Charmander, I need you to get in the ball, okay?" Mitchell asked. The Charmander shook his head playfully and let go, holding the ball up with both hands to his owner. Mitchell took it and pushed the button, instantly making Charmander turn a bright red. He turned to energy and was sucked into the ball, where he fell asleep. Mitchell sighed and clipped the ball to the top of his sweats. He silently hoped that the Pokémon wasn't always so happy, though he also admitted that he could use a little more joy in his life. Maybe Charmander was just trying to help him out of his slump.

He looked up ahead and saw the first of the lights around the center of town, the only place in the city with any real nighttime lighting. He could see the flashing sign of the pharmacy he had visited before, which made him rub his hand over his bruised face. He wondered if Joanna was still working. It was getting dark, so she probably wouldn't be busy, and he could go keep her company. Besides, he didn't really want to wake up Professor Oak at midnight. He had to get out of town as quickly as possible, and Oak was his best shot. He always could steal Charmander, but the Pokémon knew that he was supposed to be taking him back to the lab. He also didn't want to get into trouble with Oak. He sighed and kept taking his steps, moving into a light jog and passing by the first of the houses. The pharmacy was coming closer. Should he check? Yes, yes, he should. He slowed down and peered in through the window. Joanna was sitting behind the counter at the front of the store, her face buried in a teen magazine and a pair of headphones blasting loud rock music into her ears. He stepped on the sensor pad and stopped quickly. The medicine was still in his bag.

He dropped the backpack to the side of the door, in a small, shadowy alcove where no one would be able to see it, and stepped through the automatic door.

Instantly, Joanna shot a glance at the boy approaching her. It was the boy from earlier. What was his name…did he have a name? He hadn't told her. Wait, he did. No, that wasn't this one. Now she knew she was just thinking too hard.

"Hi!" she said, to which he responded, "How's it going."

He didn't seem very excited to see her. It was okay; they had only met earlier and had not even been properly introduced. She flashed her trademark smile at him and put the magazine down, instinctively bending the corner of the page as she shut it, to keep her place. He awkwardly made his way over to her, pretending to be looking for something but not doing a good job of it.

"Your bruise is looking better. Did you put the ice on it?" she asked, though she knew it was a blatant lie. If anything, it had gotten redder and a little more swollen since she had last seen him. He stopped in one of the isles and absentmindedly eyed products.

"Yeah, a little bit," he called back to her, not bothering to look. How would he approach her? She seemed bored enough, so he could probably just tell her that he was also bored. No, he couldn't, because then she would wonder why he came up to a pharmacy when he could have turned on the TV or called someone. He had to come up with something good.

"Gonna have a fun night tonight?" she asked, somewhat disappointedly. He looked back down the aisle at her and cocked his head, involuntarily mimicking Charmander.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you're staring at the condoms,"

He looked back down and suddenly started blushing, making his face even redder. Of all the things he could be looking at, why did he happen to stop at the condom section?

"Oh, no, see…I was…uh, I was…thinking…of you?"

She suddenly looked shocked.

"Excuse me?" she asked. She had been completely off when she judged him before. No wonder he had such a huge, ugly bruise on his face. He came back to buy condoms for her? What kind of freak was he?

"No, wait, dammit!" he stammered, "I meant I came back to see you, not to buy condoms!"

He let the embarrassment sink in for a few seconds, his eyes locked with hers. She started to laugh.

"And you wanted to make it seem like you were here for a reason, I get it. For a second there,"

Mitchell left the aisle and went back to the front of the store, introducing himself.

"I'm Mitchell,"

"Joanna,"

Wow. The way she said her name was breathtaking. And, of course, it was just his luck that he happened to meet her on the day that he was fleeing Pallet Town. She pulled up a tall stool behind the counter and offered him a seat.

"Wait, Mitchell. I know you from somewhere. What's your last name?" she asked. He told her.

"Yeah, I've heard that name before! I remember it because I've never heard it anywhere else. Your mom used to be friends with my mom, but we thought you guys moved or something so we never see you anymore. Where are you living now?"

"Same house I've always lived in,"

"Oh. Then why don't we ever see you?"

"Because my dad is a dick," he answered, suddenly wondering if he had offended her with his language. She sighed.

"Yeah, I know that feeling. My dad can be kinda mean sometimes. I love the guy, though. He's the one who takes me shopping and stuff. I guess it's not that he's mean, but he's really overprotective. I guess that's because Mom is overseas working until next year. He's insecure, I guess. I don't know. Do I talk too much?" she explained. The question on the end was a sort of trap. If he said yes, then he was either honest or not interested. If he said no, then he was interested, telling the truth, or not paying attention.

"Not at all. But I do have to be going soon, I've gotta get as far away from Pallet as I can tonight," he said. Joanna looked like she was about to say something, but she stopped and seemed to be looking into the distance. She was listening. Something was coming. Sirens?

"Are those coming for you?"

"Maybe,"

"What the hell did you do? That sounds like four or five cars!"

"I didn't do anything. But I guess Mom got to the station,"

Now Joanna was really curious. Mitchell reached for his Poké Ball, the one containing Charmander, and started rolling it around on the counter, playing counter-hockey with it as he explained what had been happening to her. The sirens passed right by the pharmacy, the flashing blue and red lights streaming in from the darkness outside before they faded away.

"Can I see him?" Joanna asked, pointing at the Poké Ball as it rolled into Mitchell's open right hand. He picked it up and pushed the button, the size increasing and a flash of heat from inside telling Mitchell that Charmander was awake. He released the Pokémon and watched the bright light form on the counter as Charmander appeared. He was curled up into a ball on his side. As soon as the light hit his sapphire eyes he stretched his body out, his tail kept up in the air to prevent burning anything. He stood up and looked at Mitchell happily.

"Aww, cute!" Joanna said playfully, reaching out to pet the lizard. Her other hand reached around her back, unclipping her own pet Pokémon and pushing the button on the ball.

"My mom got this from Professor Oak for my birthday last year," she told Mitchell. Charmander gave Joanna a mock-angry look when she stopped petting him, but crawled into her lap and hugged her neck.

"He likes you," Mitchell said. Joanna went googly-eyed and started baby talking to Charmander, who responded by chanting the first syllable of his name happily and pressing his head into her hand. She grabbed him and turned him around, letting her own ball drop freely onto the counter. It popped open, releasing a red light that started to take a kind of frog-like form. A small bulb appeared on its back and grew into what resembled a large head of lettuce. It shook the sleep off and looked at Mitchell suspiciously, then at Charmander.

It started to growl and two tentacle-like whips shot out from its bulb, but Joanna was quick to react. Charmander launched out of her lap and landed on the counter next to Mitchell, where it faced the Bulbasaur and stared at it threateningly.

"Friend, Bulbasaur," she snapped at it. It looked at her and turned on its stubby legs, stomping once.

"That's how he tells me he understands me. He knows a lot of tricks, but I've never taken him out training so really he's just a pet to me. I wish I could take him out, but my dad is really protective. I told you that already. He would never let me go training. So Bulbasaur is kinda stuck here with me until I turn eighteen. Then I'm blowing this popsicle stand," Joanna explained. She got a dreamy look in her eye right after her last statement. Charmander relaxed when Bulbasaur looked at him with an apologetic look. They seemed to be speaking to each other, yet they made no noise.

"I've been wanting to leave here for almost my entire life. It took forever, but I made it. I'm out of here tonight. But now I kinda wish I could stay," Mitchell told her. She looked at him expectantly. He had made his first move on her.

"Because your dad is going to jail, right? And you want to make sure your mom and Kenneth are okay? And life can actually be kinda normal now?" she asked.

"Yeah," he responded. Damn. He had expected her to say something other than that. He felt like a fish at that moment, finally getting the hook out of his mouth and swimming into smooth waters when suddenly realizing that he had swum straight into a net. She smiled at him.

"I kinda wish that one day, I'll be sitting in here, maybe reading or listening to music and talking to Bulby, just relaxing. And then, at the top of my boredom, someone will just walk in and sweep me off my feet and drop me in their limo. They could drive me to Celadon City, and they'll be rich too, so I don't have to get a job in another pharmacy – don't get me wrong, I like it here – but then I can play slots all day and party all night. Pallet is too small for a city girl like me," she dreamed. Mitchell stood up and picked up his Poké Ball.

"We've gotta go. I'll let you know if I meet your knight in shining armor," he said, letting Charmander notice that it was time to get back in the ball before actually moving away from the counter. Joanna looked at the clock on the nearby computer.

"Yeah, we closed fifteen minutes ago. I should be going too. Walk me home?" she asked hopefully. He nodded and put the ball away, confusing Charmander, who had been ready for a good night's rest.

"You want to be our light, Charmander?" Mitchell asked the Pokémon, who nodded his head violently and jumped down from the counter, leaning onto all fours and rushing through the front door. Bulbasaur hopped down and followed Charmander. Joanna set the alarm and grabbed her coat, leading Mitchell through the doors. He picked up his backpack and looked down the street, where Charmander was running alongside his Grass-type friend.

"Charmander, slow down!"

The two Pokémon looked back and sat there, awaiting their owners, who walked slowly and silently behind. It was a short walk, no more than a couple of blocks from the pharmacy, and all four of them wished that there was more time for them to hang out. Bulbasaur didn't know much other than a few Rattata who lived a silent life underneath Joanna's deck and a Pidgey that came by with outrageous stories of the world beyond Pallet, so it was good for him to have a new friend. Charmander knew a Squirtle back at the lab, but it had been a month since they had seen each other. Joanna didn't have very many people she could call true friends, and had horrible luck with boys. Now that she found one that she actually liked, he was leaving. Mitchell felt the same way, though the reason he couldn't find any girls was because he could never leave the house. As they approached the door, Joanna noted that her father was standing at the upstairs window and looking down, waiting for her to show up. She waved at him and he walked away, presumably coming downstairs to let her in.

"Well, sorry this was so short-lived. I don't have any guy friends around here, they're all pigs. You're pretty cool, though. Give me a call next time you stop by?" she asked. He pulled out his cell phone and stored her number as she spoke it from memory. Both of them wondered if he would ever call.

"I'm sorry, you can't keep him," Joanna heard from behind. The door was open a crack and a mysterious eye could be seen staring out at them.

"I know," she said. Her dad stood there and stared at Mitchell, the eye seemingly enthralled by the massive bruise on the side of his face. Bulbasaur pushed the door open a little further so that he could fit in, and Joanna crouched down and pet Charmander one more time.

"You come back to me if he misbehaves, mkay?" she said, rubbing him on the head and standing back up. Mitchell couldn't see Joanna's dad in the widened door opening, and assumed that he was with Bulbasaur, wherever the Pokémon had run off to. Well, he had to seize the moment.

He leaned in and planted a kiss on Joanna's cheek. He had been aiming for her lips, but it seemed really early, even though he was sure they would never see each other again. She smiled and hugged him goodbye before stepping into her house. Charmander stood on his tiptoes and waved at her before turning around with Mitchell. They walked down to the driveway and toward the lab, Charmander's tail bouncing like a torch in the dark.

As soon as Joanna shut the door, she saw her father standing there. He had watched through the peephole.

"I hope you were at work," he said, sounding slightly annoyed. Joanna sighed.

"Yes, Daddy, he was a customer. He's a gentleman and didn't want me to have to walk home alone this late at night, okay?"

Her dad looked at her suspiciously.

"What was that kiss about?"

"It's just a way to say goodbye now, Dad,"

"What happened to him, if he's such a gentleman? Did you kick him in the face for hitting on you?"

"No, I wouldn't do that to him, he's just a sweet guy,"

"So you like him then,"

"Remember Amber Direnetti?"

Her dad didn't expect the seemingly random question.

"Yes, why?"

"That's her son,"

"Oh,"

"They didn't move. Turn on the news, you'll see," Joanna told him. She saw Bulbasaur sitting at the top of the stairs.

"I have to feed him. Seriously, watch the news. You won't expect it at all,"

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Author Notes: Okay, I kinda lied. The letter will not be delivered until the next post, since I got a little carried away with Mitch and Joanna. In the next post, I promise, Mitchell will go to Professor Oak, receive his starter, watch the news report that Joanna's dad will be watching as well, and meet the rival (ooooh, who's it gonna be?). Read and review, I know it's long but I like to know the opinions of the readers (as well as if there are any at all).

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	4. Whereabouts Unknown

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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The lights inside the lab were dimmed but not completely darkened, with blue light permeating the shadows as it escaped the various computer screens around their front room. The door itself looked into a small room that preceded the first section of the lab, much like the entryways of mall department stores. Through the tinted glass, Mitchell could see one moving figure. She crossed the room as the automatic doors on the back wall shut behind her, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of a coffee mug. She was eyeing some documents that she set down on her desk shortly before letting her attention drift to the television screen. Mitchell tapped lightly on the glass, but she did not hear him. Any sound he made would probably be audible from inside the first small room, but it would not get past the second set of doors.

"Hello?" he called out, but the scientist, a blonde woman, did not respond. He started knocking harder, afraid that he would break the glass, and still there was no response.

"I've got a delivery for you, open up!" Mitchell shouted, and for a second he considered kicking the door as hard as he could and hoping for it to shatter cleanly, but the woman glanced over at him before he could pull up his foot. She stood for a second, wondering what he was doing there, before approaching the first set of doors. She pushed a button on the wall nearby.

"Can I help you?" she asked. She sounded older than she looked, but she looked very young for her job. Mitchell saw a small button and speaker on the wall next to the door, hidden in the nighttime shadows. He pushed it in and waited for it to click.

"Yeah, I've got something I need to give to Oak, is he around?" Mitchell asked. He had the notepad in the deep pocket of his sweats, the cardboard cover pressing against the material. The blonde looked at him.

"We're not open this late, I'm sorry. Can you come back tomorrow morning?"

"It's from Kenneth Adler," Mitchell said, remembering his friend's advice.

"Can I see proof?"

Mitchell looked down at his side, but Charmander was not there. It only took a second to locate him. The Pokémon was digging around in a nearby bush, pulling small berries away from the branches and sniffing them before tasting them one by one. They were plump and red, and very appealing to the eye. That was probably why Charmander had gone after them.

"Come here, Charmander," Mitchell ordered, and the lizard obeyed. Upon walking over to Mitchell, he held up a handful of the berries, offering them to the human. Mitchell took one and put it in his mouth, crushing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The juices were bitter but irresistible, and made Mitchell realize just how hungry he had become.

"Come on in," the scientist said, opening both sets of doors. Mitchell felt the cold, sterile air rushing out into the night as he walked through. Charmander followed him inside, practically begging the scientist to pet him. She smiled and rubbed him on the nose.

"How did you get Charmander from Kenneth? I saw just now that they found him lying in the grass near a house on the other side of town. He got shot," the scientist said. She sounded worried, but as the two of them looked over to the screen, the reporter finished her statement that Kenneth was being loaded into an ambulance as she spoke. He was still alive and speaking clearly, and did not seem too shocked by what had happened. Both of them stopped speaking and kept their focus on the report, even Charmander, who was not even sure what was going on.

"When questioned, Adler said that he had been shot by Edward Direnetti, a reclusive resident of Pallet Town. His wife, Amber, was actually the one who arrived at the police station shortly after the crime took place, around nine o'clock tonight. According to her report, her son Mitchell had been present when her husband allegedly beat her, and had left to go into town to purchase first aid supplies. Adler, however, denied that he had seen Mitchell at all tonight. He told authorities that he had received a call from Mitchell that worried him, so he left his own home to go to the Direnetti household. Adler did not disclose what had been said during the call," the reporter said.

"I'll go see if the Professor is awake. Wait here," the scientist said. Mitchell took a seat on one of the low white couches and kept watching the report. Charmander sat next to him, munching on his collection of berries and offering some to the teenager every once in a while.

"Strangely enough, Edward Direnetti disappeared from the household only moments after his discovery in an upstairs bedroom. An officer examining the crime scene came down saying that he had found the man upstairs with a visibly broken arm and bruises on his face, but when he returned to the room the man had vanished. It is believed that he either climbed through the open window or exited through the back door while no one was watching. A city-wide search has been ordered for Edward Direnetti, pictured here,"

The picture was one that disgusted Mitchell. It was their last family portrait, taken the summer before. For whatever reason, Edward had decided that they needed to have one. Mitchell and Amber smiled for the camera, faked but not obviously, but Edward stood there with a stern glance. They were all dressed in semi-formal clothing, with Amber in a beautiful maroon dress that Edward had purchased for that occasion. Amber despised the thing, no matter how gorgeous it made her look. The reporter continued.

"Police are also on the lookout for seventeen year old Mitchell Direnetti, also pictured here. If you have any information regarding the disappearances, please call the local police station. For Pallet Channel 7 News, I'm Veronica Saxon,"

The automatic door on the back wall opened as the blonde scientist returned with an older man. He was tall and seemed friendly enough, but he looked as though he had just been awakened from his sleep after working for eighteen hours straight. His jawline was set and defined, and his dirty blonde hair was a mess. He had visible grays at his temples and hairline.

"You've brought me my Charmander?" the professor asked, skipping introductions and small talk. Charmander jumped up off of the couch and ran toward the older man, wrapping his short arms around the professor's leg. Mitchell stood up and reached for the notepad in his pocket.

"You must be Professor Oak. I'm Mitchell Direnetti," Mitch said, sticking his hand out in front of him for the man to shake. He noticed that the expressions on both of the scientists' faces were suddenly very serious.

"You do know that the police are looking for you, young man," Oak said, ignoring the handshake and glaring at the boy. Mitchell felt very intimidated by this man, but Charmander's ritual chanting of his own name lightened the mood of the moment.

"Now I do. But that is not important right now. I have something that Kenneth wanted me to bring you. Not Charmander, but he's here too," Mitchell said. He held the black notepad out for Professor Oak to take. The scientist knew exactly what it was.

"How did you get this?" he asked.

"Kenneth gave it to me after he got shot,"

"I see,"

There was a brief moment of silence as Professor Oak flipped open the cover of the notepad and admired the drawings that Kenneth had made as a sort of cover page. They were proportionally drawn, not artist-like material but close enough. They depicted the evolutionary tree of a Pidgey, and included skeletal structures. It was a great start to the notes, and a touch that few other students thought to include. The next page showed entry number one, Rattata. Oak didn't bother reading absolutely everything on the page, but it was well organized and included just about everything a novice researcher could find about the Pokémon without tools. The next few pages included more notes on Rattata, then Pidgey, then Magikarp and Tentacool. There was one thing in this notepad that Oak noticed that he had not seen before in other interns notepads; Staryu. Somehow, Kenneth had gotten a hold on a Staryu long enough to study it.

"I'm saddened that he will not be joining us. I will make sure to make a note of him and call him when he gets out of the hospital, though a part of me wants to call them now and leave a note for them to give to him," Oak said. He turned to the last page of the notepad and saw Kenneth's letter.

"Mitchell, have you looked at this?" Oak asked, but the boy shook his head.

"I didn't really think about it," he replied. Oak looked past Mitchell at the TV, listening to the continuing coverage of the violence at the Direnetti household.

"I should call the police and tell them that you are here," Oak told him, "but I don't want you to have to sit in a police station all night. From what we've heard tonight, you were hit as well? That bruise looks bad,"

"Yeah, textbook smash into my face," Mitchell said. Oak nodded.

"Well, I hate to be morbid, but if this note includes your friend's last wishes, then I would never be able to live knowing that I disregarded them," Oak said. Mitchell felt a tug on his heart when he heard Oak say it, but deep inside he also knew that being shot was a serious matter. He hoped that Kenneth would be able to pull through it.

"Might I asked what happened, first?" the professor asked. Mitchell's first thought was to just say no and move on to the contents of the note. He wanted to know what Kenneth had told Oak. But Oak was not going to turn him in to the police, so he felt obligated to tell the story.

"My dad is the absolute worst father in history," he started. He liked how that sounded and thought it would be a good beginning if he ever decided to write an autobiography. He shortened the story considerably, finishing it over the course of three minutes.

"Basically, whatever he says when the police catch him is wrong, and whatever my mom says is right, and whatever Kenneth says is probably right. He'll only lie if he's protecting me," Mitchell finished. The blonde scientist had gone back to work on her computer but was listening regardless.

"Well, if the law system pulls through, then you might never have to see him again. I would never wish that upon anyone, to not see their father again, but I know you're probably thinking it too," Oak told Mitchell before beckoning for him to follow to the back part of the lab.

"It really is a shame about Kenneth. You probably feel guilty about it, since it was your dad, but that was a really good thing for him to do. I hope you'll pay him back someday. His observation skills are very developed for someone his age. It'll be a chore not having him around, now that I know his potential," the professor continued. Mitchell didn't want to be disrespectful by not listening, but wished the Professor Oak would just let him see the notepad. He knew that Professor Oak was the starting point for a lot of the Pokémon League sanctioned trainers, but only because the TV happened to be on a tournament one day when he walked into the living room. Kenneth knew that Mitchell saw becoming a trainer as the only way out of Pallet Town, so Oak was probably leading him back to receive his first Pokémon.

"This here is a Pokédex," Oak told Mitchell as he picked up a small red device from the table near a large circular machine. It resembled a PDA in some ways, and a cell phone in others. Oak opened it to show him the inside.

"I invented this as a research tool, though that is only one of its uses. It was my dream to write an informative document that covered all of the world's Pokémon. By the time I had the Pokédex perfected, I was too old and involved in this career to spend any time roaming the world and capturing Pokémon. I've relied on the reports of trainers around the world that have their starts with me, and they have given me enough information to upgrade the Pokédex to include everything that they've found. I send out updates periodically, but only when I receive new information. This Pokédex only has the information for the Pokémon native to this region, but it should do you fine for now," he explained before handing the device to Mitchell. Mitchell looked at him disbelievingly.

"You're just going to give this to me?" he asked.

"I've got a whole box of them, I'm sure I'll still have one for Kenneth when he comes to work for me. That one there was going to be his, but he wanted me to give it to you," Oak told him.

"What do I do with it?" Mitchell asked.

"It's quite simple, really. I won't bore you with all of the technical details, but it basically scans a Pokémon that you've seen or caught and stores information. Obviously, you get more when you catch it than you would if you've just seen it. It then correlates that information with information received by my computer from other trainers. It can tell you likely places to find that species, assuming it's been seen before, as well as other information, including evolutionary lines and the like," the professor said.

"I always thought training was just buying Poké Balls and catching Pokémon and fighting. That's how trainers make their living, right?" Mitchell asked.

"Essentially. There are also the emotional bonds that you get with your Pokémon, with other trainers, and everything else. It's not just about fighting. You learn these things along the road, and when you do you realize that it's a very rewarding experience. Plus, it can be lucrative if you play your cards right,"

Mitchell started browsing the Pokédex's options, but he wasn't able to get far before the professor interrupted.

"There's one more thing," he said, "It's my tradition to give starting trainer's their first Pokémon. Now, since the normal registration time is not for a couple of months, I have not received Pokémon shipments for the next wave of trainers, but I do have a couple remaining from last year that I'd like to let you pick from,"

Mitchell looked down at Charmander, who nodded at him.

"I thought so. Your other choice is a Squirtle. I had a Bulbasaur left over, too, but I gave it to my friend's daughter as a present. Are you sure that you want to take Charmander?"

Mitchell looked at the lizard again, who held up the last of his bitter-tasting berries for the boy. He took it and put it in his mouth. He liked Charmander, that was for sure. But what if Kenneth came back to find that Charmander was no longer there? He seemed like he liked the Pokémon as well. Squirtle probably didn't have any emotional connections, so it would be a fresh start for him.

"Also, don't feel like Kenneth would be angry about you taking Charmander. If you don't, then someone is going to come registration time," Oak said. Charmander scratched his neck with one of his feet.

"I'll take him," he said, swallowing the berry. Both the professor and the Pokémon smiled.

"Well, then you are officially a Pokémon trainer. You'll need to fill out a form, though, so I can get you registered in the Pokémon League's database," Oak said, "Congratulations."

Mitchell heard his name mentioned on the TV again, the sound drifting through the open automatic door as the blonde scientist came through. She was refilling her coffee.

"Could you possibly wait a couple of days before registering me? If the police come knocking, I don't want them to know where I'm going," Mitchell asked. Oak nodded, reaching for his own coffee cup.

"My lips are sealed. I'll give you three days before I register you," Oak promised. The blonde scientist looked at them.

"Should I write you a reminder note?" she asked. Oak nodded.

"Naturally. In three days I probably won't even remember that this ever happened," the professor told her, smiling. Mitchell looked at the two before deciding that he could not spend any more time in Pallet Town. He needed to be in Viridian by tomorrow morning if he hoped to escape the Pallet Police Department.

"Thanks for not reporting me," Mitchell told Oak, who nodded and looked up at his clock.

"Well, it's late and I've got a date with my pillow," he said. He waved goodbye to Mitchell, who went back into the lobby-type area where the TV was still showing live news from the Direnetti household. The teenager couldn't help but wonder if the news was playing anywhere else in Kanto. If it were, then he would have a harder time disguising himself on his journey from suspicious eyes, especially with his bruise. He also wanted to go there himself and punch out the reporter and crew. Yeah, there was a shooting, but it couldn't be that big of a deal. Pallet had its share of crimes, none violent but they did exist. Now everyone would be riding out to the house during the day and bringing their friends, telling the stories that spread and become corrupted by the general masses. They would probably talk about Haunters and Gengars possessing Edward and forcing him to try and kill everyone around. They would say that no one ever saw Edward or Mitchell again, because the ghosts took them away.

Mitchell silently hoped that an urban legend would grow from this. He would love to show up in Pallet Town one day to have every single kid in the city running in fear.

"Well, you should be going now," the female scientist told Mitchell, who looked down at his wrist. He was not wearing his watch, but wished he had grabbed it from the house on his way out. He had his phone and his Pokédex, but the time wasn't really important to him anyway.

"Yeah, I should. It's dark out, and Edward's still running around. I'll see you guys around, I guess," he said. He stepped through the automatic door and waited for the blonde to lock it behind him before he stepped through the outer doors. Charmander wanted sleep and wasn't afraid to show it. He reached for his Poké Ball as Mitchell passed by the berry bushes. Sure, they were bitter and didn't taste very good, but they had an addictive effect, like cigarettes. Plus, he wasn't sure what else Charmander liked to eat. He knelt down and started picking clumps of berries from the bushes and putting them in a clean sock in his backpack. Charmander pushed the button and sucked himself into his own Poké Ball, his well-deserved nap beginning as soon as he was entirely inside.

Mitchell put one berry in his mouth and crushed it with his bicuspids, running his tongue along the length of his mouth to catch all of the bitter liquid. He wondered why he didn't feel any different. He was now an official Pokémon trainer, with his own Pokémon and a Pokédex. Why hadn't the feeling sunk in yet? He took a few more steps and turned into the alleyway at the end of Oak's lab. Turning the corner, he stopped when he saw someone standing there in front of him. It was a figure clad entirely in black. In their outstretched arm was a nine-millimeter pistol.

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Author Notes: End of Chapter 4. Yeah, you all knew he'd get Charmander. Because we all know that Charmander is the most badass of the original three starters. Read and review, I enjoy feedback and I see that there are hundreds of people on the Pokémon section of so I expect something. I will warn you now; there is sexual content in Chapter 5. Not too much, and it isn't sex, but let this serve as a warning. Who is the figure in black with the gun? That, my friends, is what the public calls a cliffhanger. Like the one we got at the end of Season 1 of Supernatural.

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	5. Anything You Want

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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"If I were you, I wouldn't move and I'd listen to everything that I'm about to say," the shrouded figure said, with a voice dark and foreboding. Mitchell could tell that it was a girl. Normally, he would have eased himself upon that revelation, knowing that males were typically stronger than females and that he was stronger than a lot of males that he knew. However, with the gun waving around in his face, Mitchell stood unmoving, knowing that strength was suddenly not an issue. Though she was wearing a black ski mask, Mitchell could see blonde locks hanging down in front of her eyes, as if she had been in a hurry to put the mask on. Her eyes were gray and hard as steel, and the tired look she had opened like a window to her past. She had been through a lot. Mitchell knew those eyes; he gazed into ones just like them every morning when he looked into a mirror. Her tall frame was thin, yet had the hint of a top-heavy hourglass figure. In a way, looking at her made Mitchell think immediately of Joanna; whether this was because she looked like her or because he was suddenly inches and a trigger pull from death, he did not know. She waved her gun at him, as if signaling for him to carry on the next step in the process. He put his hands up in the air and let her goad him further into the alleyway. With slight reluctance, she told him to put his hands on the wall of Oak's lab.

"Look, I'm all for role-playing," Mitchell started, but the girl interrupted him.

"Smartass comments aren't gonna help you," she said. He shrugged lightly.

"I didn't know. This is my first armed robbery, to be honest,"

She ignored his statement.

"Wallet and Pokémon," she requested, just about as nicely as an armed robber could ask, while motioning for him to turn around and face him. She had planned to frisk him while he was on the wall, but he looked like he could easily take advantage of that single moment, while the gun was pointed away from him, to turn the tables back on her. She wasn't used to robbing people as young as Mitchell.

Mitchell wanted to turn around and slap her for even suggesting that he would give up Charmander. Sure, he had only known the Pokémon for a little while and had only owned him for a couple of minutes, but it was his. He couldn't just say no, either, unless he wanted to die. Not only that, but she would still get Charmander. His money wasn't as important, since he could get more with his new career. He could probably borrow some from Joanna, or sell something. But what did he have to sell? An empty Pokéball?

He blinked with the realization that he still had the ball that Joanna had given him. Slowly, the plan was forming in his head. The robber fidgeted out of impatience and opened her mouth to threaten him, but he began to slowly turn before any sound could get out. She kept the gun held up and told him to use his right hand.

"Okay," Mitchell said in compliance, his right hand lowering. She waved the gun and his hand shot back up.

"Your other right," she said. Mitchell gave her a look that she didn't like, even though the thought behind it was completely neutral. He reached for the Pokéballs that were clipped to the back of his sweats, hidden beneath his backpack. One of them felt warm, which Mitchell knew was Charmander. Was he sleeping, or had he become alerted to what was happening outside of his little paradise? The lizard had seemed shocked when it saw Kenneth, soaked in blood, yet he surely would have heard the gunshot if he could perceive anything outside. The heat spread over the ball in waves, like light snoring. Charmander was as relaxed as could be, with not a care in the world. It would be a horrible surprise to wake up and see some cold-hearted robber rather than Mitchell's bruised but familiar face.

He unclipped the ball that felt empty, his fingers grazing the metal of the nine-millimeter tucked into the small of his back. He brought the ball to the front of his body and stroked it lightly with his thumb, looking down sadly. He had to sell this act for just a few more seconds, get her attention on something else while he finished his own plan.

"It's a Charmander," he told her as he extended his open hand, the empty ball rolling around in his palm, "Wallet's in my back pocket,"

She eyed him suspiciously as she took the ball from his hand. He was just now starting as a Pokémon trainer, so this should be the only ball that he had. Just for good measure, she wanted to check. She had been duped before, but it was by someone much older and wiser than this boy seemed, and she wasn't keen on letting it happen again. As he reached for his wallet, she let the ball drop to the ground, watching it as it fell.

Mitchell saw his opportunity. He reached behind his back with his left hand – his gun hand – and wrapped it tightly around the grip of the pistol, yanking it from the makeshift holster and quickly taking aim at the robber just as the ball cracked open, revealing that it was empty.

For a second, it seemed that the world stood still. A sly smile crossed Mitchell's lips. The robber looked up at him, her face showing that she was clearly pissed. Their guns were nearly barrel-to-barrel, and each could see the eye of the other through their sights. The robber took a step back, breaking the silence as she let out a fighting cry. She kicked her leg up, an impressive display of her own flexibility and physical ability, and felt one of her toes pop as her foot connected with the bottom of Mitchell's gun. It flew up high into the air as Mitchell retracted his outstretched hand, shockwaves of pain flowing from his trigger finger and throughout his hand. The gun was lost in the darkness, but both could hear it hit the wall of Oak's lab and clatter to the ground nearby. The robber seemed to collect herself before giving Mitchell her next command.

"On your knees," she said. He cradled his injured finger with his right hand.

"This usually happens the other way around," Mitchell joked, trying to focus his attention on her and not on his hand. She looked at him, mocking offense and not letting him know that as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she thought the exact same thing.

"Hands in the air. Point to your wallet," she said. He raised both hands in the air, but stopped there.

"Point," she reiterated.

"How can I do both at the same time?" he asked, his first serious question for the robber. She looked at him sadistically.

"Do it or I'll shoot. And do it with the hurt hand," she said. She watched his expression change as he attempted to point, his fingers refusing to bend if it would force his index finger to move. She took pleasure in these moments of the boy's vulnerability. Though his face had an unsightly bruise that spanned from cheekbone to his nose, she could tell that he was an attractive boy. As her anger began to switch to lust, she started to tighten her finger on the trigger.

"Don't do it, girl," he spat out, "You don't want three murder hanging over your head when the law comes knocking,"

"What three?" she asked, her finger relaxing. He looked up at her, unafraid of the gun.

"Mine, Edward Direnetti, and Kenneth Adler. You heard the news," Mitchell lied. He knew that it was unlikely that either of the two would actually die from their injuries, but if the girl was out here committing robberies, then she probably had not seen the report. He had gotten that much right. All she knew was that something big happened on the other side of Pallet that had the majority of the police force away from the east. It was the perfect night for a couple of jobs, and Mitchell happened to be lucky enough to be the first.

"Two people got killed?" she asked, and he nodded.

"That doesn't have anything to do with you dying," she told him.

"I'm Edward Direnetti's son," he told her, though it stung to admit it, "If I get killed, they'll investigate, they'll find you, and they'll assume you committed all three murders; the son, the father, and the best friend,"

So she couldn't shoot him. She never intended to do it either way. It would be a bigger crime to put a hole in that beautiful face of his. Of course, he didn't know that.

"We can avoid that if you'll just stop the games and give me your stuff,"

She couldn't stay angry. Since the "on your knees" comment, she couldn't stop picturing this boy's weight on top of her, his lightly tanned body pressing against her in a violent embrace, their lips mashed together and tongues brushing. She imagined the scent of his breath – cinnamon – and could see him moving down her neck, biting her lightly as his head lowered to her chest –

"Let's make a deal," she heard Mitchell say, snapping her out of her fantasies for a moment. He continued speaking.

"You have a Pokéball on your belt. You're a trainer?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Okay. I just became one. Let's get rid of the guns and have a straight up battle. Winner take all," he offered. She smiled beneath her mask, already knowing what her terms would be, but feigning ignorance.

"What do you mean by winner take all?" she asked.

"I win, and you leave and we pretend this never happened," he said. She stood in wait of his list of things she would receive for winning, but he said nothing. Giving in to impatience, she asked him.

"And if I win?"

He smiled.

"You won't," he said. She saw him smile and was angry that he doubted her abilities as a trainer, but he looked so delicious when he smiled. Her thoughts fell to the gutter again.

"Arrogant," she hissed. He dropped his smile.

"Okay, fine. If you win, you can have anything you want,"

She smiled again, the black fabric of the mask hiding her white teeth from Mitchell's eyes. Her thoughts went into full force and she nearly separated from reality as they became kinkier. She could have anything she wanted from him. She knew exactly what she was going to take. A battle with him sounded perfect. But she needed a quick fix first, a glimpse into what she would get if she won. Just a taste.

"Stand up," she told him, "hands behind your head," He obeyed her, wondering if she was thinking about his offer at all. The gun was still pointed at him, though her finger had fallen away from the trigger. He put his hands on the back of his head and watched as she walked up behind him, not daring to turn his head to follow her.

"Gotta make sure you aren't trying to trick me," she lied, knowing that he probably wouldn't pull another gun on her, "Don't move,"

His backpack was in the way. She holstered her pistol quickly and put her hands on his shoulders, sliding her slender gloved fingers up underneath the straps. She used her forearms to press his arms back down, which he resisted at first, until he realized that she wanted the pack off. He rested his arms but kept them away from his body so that she didn't think he was reaching for anything. The pack was light, and she tossed it to the side. Her hands found their way back to his shoulders and she rubbed them gently, letting her hands do what they would. His arms were back up in the air, and had no place to hide a weapon anyway. She ran her hands slowly down his shoulder blades and pressed on the firm muscle that covered them, then moved to his sides. Mitchell didn't move.

As she started to move down his legs, she kneeled, her hands stopped on his hard glutes for a little bit longer than necessary. She moved on, hoping that he wouldn't notice. He was too wrapped up in thought to be paying any attention at all. She looked up and wanted him to just turn around, wanted her face to be on the other side of his body. The gloves were too much of a hindrance. They fell to the ground near the backpack as she began to frisk him again, this time from the front. His eyes were closed, but he was starting to notice that her hands were moving to other places. She traced the outer edges of his chest and moved down his defined abdominals, stopping with her hands touching the tied knot of his sweatpants. He didn't move his head, but his eyes followed her as she began to crouch down, her fingers sliding down the front of his sweatpants and pressing up against the material of his boxer-briefs. She stopped the slow movement and cupped his testicles, squeezing hard and inciting a brief yelp from Mitchell.

She let go and backed away, satisfied with her taste of things to come.

"Anything I want? You've got yourself a deal,"

Joanna walked down the stairs, Bulbasaur following closely. It was late, but she was incredibly hungry for some reason. She had some leftover spaghetti in a box from her favorite restaurant, sitting in the refrigerator. She had a towel wrapped around her head, her short auburn hair still damp from her shower earlier. The room was dark, the only light visible being the one coming from the television. Her stomach grumbled with the promise of pasta and she pressed one hand against it, as if to try and calm it down. When she walked past the entryway to the living room, she stopped and looked in. Standing between her and the screen was a tall silhouette of a man. He was dialing something into his phone.

"Dad? Who are you calling?"

"The police," he answered. She was confused.

"Why?"

The television was tuned to the news, which was still covering the shooting at Mitchell's house. She saw a picture of the boy being displayed on the screen, in the top right corner. The anchor was talking about him.

"If you have any information on the whereabouts of Mitchell Direnetti, please contact Pallet Police Department," the man droned, and Joanna's dad looked at her, acknowledging the answer that came from the TV.

"We don't know where he is, why would you call the police?" she asked. Her father looked at her doubtfully.

"I don't know where he is," he said, emphasizing the "I". Joanna gave him a frustrated look.

"So what are you going to tell them, Daddy? 'My daughter saw him, naturally she knows exactly where he is?'" Joanna asked angrily. Bulbasaur nodded in agreement. After a few seconds of staring exchanged between the two of them, her dad set the phone down.

"Thank you," she said. She proceeded to the kitchen, but heard him pick the phone back up. She wasn't even going to bother this time. If the police wanted to come and question her, fine. She would tell them the truth, and they would be no further along in finding him than they would be if Daddy had never called. Bulbasaur pulled the refrigerator door open with his vines before she could, and she grabbed the small white box and pulled it out.

"Bulbasaur," the Pokémon said. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew from looking at the contents of the box that she could not eat it all. It seemed that her dad had poured his leftovers in with hers. He only did that when he knew he wasn't going to ever finish it.

"Want some?" she asked Bulbasaur, who stood up on his hind legs and nodded. She got two plates from the open cabinet behind her and set them on the counter, shoveling forkfuls of noodles and sauce onto them. She heated them in the microwave for 45 seconds and set them down on the table.

"Honey?" she heard from the living room as she took her first bite. Bulbasaur climbed into a chair and onto the table to feast on his meal.

"Yes?"

"The police are going to come here after they clean up at the Direnetti's. I told them you could tell them where Mitchell is going,"

"What?" the girl asked angrily, a noodle hanging from her mouth. She sucked it back into her mouth and stood up, stomping over to her father.

"I do not know where Mitchell is, I do not know where he is going, and…ooh, Daddy, you annoy the hell out of me sometimes! You know the police are going to fine you for false information? Why can't you just listen when I tell you I don't know? What kind of father are you?"

"A good one!" he shouted back. Bulbasaur stopped eating and listened to the conversation. Joanna was not happy. But her father was the one who paid for everything. He couldn't rush to her defense knowing that.

"I'm not going to the police station, Daddy!" she screamed. She left him in the living room, his mouth wide open with awe. She had never snapped at him like this. As he watched her climb the stairs, he saw Bulbasaur walk by, balancing two plates of spaghetti on his vines. He climbed the stairs and walked into Joanna's room before she slammed the door.

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Author Notes: I'll end this chapter here. So, we've met the rival, but we do not know her name. As you can see, they met under slightly different circumstances than in the games, but this is a mature novelization for a reason! And hey, I warned you about sexual content, did I not? I think I did well with that part, considering it was my first time ever writing something like that. Let me know what you think, please review if you read!

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	6. The First Battle

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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The robber walked over to the other side of the alley as Mitchell backed over to Oak's wall, still feeling the initial shock of being grabbed so suddenly and violently. Now that the largest part of the pain was out of the way, he could hear his mind telling him to ask her to do it again, more gently this time, but he would never say something like that out loud. He was starting to get a semi-erection, his body betraying his better judgment, but in the darkness of the alleyway it didn't seem like she would be able to notice. He brought Charmander's Poké Ball out in front of him and held it in his hand, pressing the button on the front to make it larger. Charmander pulsed waves of heat in response, showing that he was awake.

The girl slid her fingers up underneath the wool opening of her ski mask and pulled it off slowly, revealing a pale and mature face and long wavy blonde hair. Her eyebrows were thin and devious, and she wore no makeup, save for dark eye shadow. Looking at her, Mitchell got the vivid image of a porn star he had seen on the television at his house, for his father made no effort to hide what he was watching, no matter who could see. Now that he was picturing this robber in such risqué positions as he had seen in that video, he couldn't help but stop trying to suppress his raging hard-on. Who cared? She couldn't see it in the dark, and he was sure that it would go away when the battle started. And if it wouldn't, well, he could deal with that later. After all, he did have all the time in the world.

She pulled her Poké Ball off of her belt and scanned it with her eyes, as if trying to communicate a message through the synthetic metal exterior and into her Pokémon's mind. She felt a puff of air escape from the ball and blow onto her hand.

"Come on out, Pidgey!" she spoke, tossing the ball high up into the air. The seam between the two differently colored sections of the ball glowed white for a split-second before it split open, spitting a blue light into the air that took the form of the bird Pokémon. The ball flew back and landed in the robber's open hand. Pidgey flapped its wings gently and stared at Mitchell, awaiting his opponent's first move. It was oddly colored, though the variation could have been caused by the darkness all around them. The brown feathers that normally covered the back and sides of the bird looked almost black, and it seemed like it might've been invisible if not for its other feathers, white as clouds.

"This is our first one, Charmander!" Mitchell told the Poké Ball as it flew into the air and spat out the gelatinous energy blob that soon formed his Pokémon. The lizard stretched its arms and looked up at the Pidgey, their eyes locking. Mitchell and the female combatant did the same.

"Gust him, baby," the girl said, and Pidgey began to spin around in the air, seemingly sucking in the wind around it. A nearly invisible tornado formed that covered the bird from all sides, the dust and leaves that covered the ground rushing up to meet it. Mitchell was about to issue a command for Charmander to block the attack. It dawned on him that he didn't know what moves Charmander knew.

Charmander glanced back, a worried look on his face as he realized that his owner had no idea what to do. His little mind was racing with ideas. Could he disobey his owner? No, he couldn't. All he could do was stand there and take the attack as it came. But was it really disobedience if his owner said nothing? Wild Pokémon fought by instinct, he knew. Perhaps he could just go by instinct and let Mitchell take over when he felt ready.

"Pidg-oooooooo!" the bird screamed as it pushed on the tornado, sending it flying directly at Charmander. Leaves flew out of it and fluttered to the ground as it moved further from them, and the robber smiled widely when she saw the look of horror on Mitchell's face. It truly was his first battle, and he had no idea how to make Charmander fight. The Pokémon's expression turned to one of disheartened determination, like a weakened dolphin, stuck in a net but refusing to give up hope. The tornado approached, and Charmander did what no one expected. He lunged forward, his tiny feet lifting off of the cold ground as he was sucked higher into the air. The flame on his tail erupted as he twisted and flipped in the air current, his eyes closed and his small body being blasted with fine dust particles. Not too long had passed before he reached the top of the tornado, where Pidgey was floating, ready for the second attack.

"Tackle him, follow up with a Sand-Attack to keep dust blasting into him!" the robber shouted upward to her Pidgey, who squawked in agreement. It flew up and did a flip in the air before diving downward, pulling its wings close to its body to add speed. The girl smiled and looked at Mitchell, who had his eyes on Charmander as he was sucked higher into the tornado. Oh, the fun she was going to have tonight.

Charmander felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side as Pidgey's hard beak hit his ribs, piercing the skin but not doing any other damage. The bird bounced off of him and flipped back over, extending its wings and riding the updraft to the top of the tornado. Charmander was sent downward, but twirled around as helpless as ever. Had he seen Pidgey coming, he would have hit it back. Why had he jumped in this tornado, it was a stupid idea.

The robber looked at Mitchell, who was reaching into his backpack. Was he going for an item? Was Charmander so weak that he would already need a Potion?

Mitchell turned back around, holding a small red device that was flipped open and pointed to the sky, directly at Charmander. She heard a voice that spoke words that she couldn't make out over the roar of the tornado, but she could see exactly what it was. Mitchell was using his Pokédex to check on Charmander's moves. He smiled as Pidgey landed near the base of the tornado, its wings kicking up more and more dust and dirt to blast into Charmander from the swirling vortex.

"Charmander, get out of there and use Ember!" Mitchell shouted to his Pokémon, who heard the command and sighed with the relief that Mitchell had figured out the main concept of battling. He opened his eyes slightly and looked down into the cyclone, seeing the Pidgey spinning around at the bottom, kicking dust into it. His eyes shut instinctively as the Sand-Attack impacted him, leaving a mark that burned a bit. Being a Fire type, he could hardly notice. As he spun, he picked up the rhythm of the tornado and began to shift his momentum in a way that brought him closer and closer to the edge. Meanwhile, the robber was biting her lower lip with anxiety. Mitchell could actually do something now. If Charmander ever found a way out of Pidgey's Gust, then she might be in trouble. Her mind was scolding her for not bringing a stronger Pokémon with her. But she wasn't even supposed to be battling. At the most, Pidgey was only there to help her convince her victims to let her have their stuff.

Mitchell could see Charmander fighting the tornado and trying to get away. He also noticed that by grabbing his Pokédex, he had wiped that smug grin off of the enemy's face. She now seemed concerned that she would actually lose. Good, that's what he wanted in an opponent. And, aside from his need to win so that he could keep Charmander, there was no way that he was going to lose to a Pidgey. A second or two after that thought crossed Mitchell's mind, the Fire Pokémon pulled free from the fierce power of the vortex and dug his sharp claws into the wall of the building behind the robber. He looked at her and smiled in triumph, as if to mock her by telling her that he was just messing with her when it looked like he could not escape. She saw his happy little grin and scoffed. Pidgey stopped pushing dust into the tornado and it dissipated, the wind allowing the humans' hair to settle and their clothes to cease movement. The bird stared at the lizard as it slid its way down the wall.

"Tackle him again, Pidgey," the girl said, her eyes not leaving Charmander. The bird squawked and fluttered its wings, speeding toward the lizard. Charmander waited until Pidgey had come close enough to hit before it opened its mouth. Inside, what was normally a dark pink glowed fiery red, and a jet of flame came forth that ignited Pidgey's feathers as it came closer. Charmander dropped down and Pidgey slammed into the wall, backing up and shaking off the remaining flames as it recovered from the sudden unexpected attack. Its head turned quickly and it saw Charmander standing below it.

"Don't just float there, Tackle him again!" the girl yelled, and Pidgey dove for the lizard. It glanced at Mitchell, who looked down at his Pokédex. Ember seemed to work well, but he had three more attacks he could try out with Charmander. Scratch would not be good in the middle of a Tackle, and Growl was just dumb. But why scratch when you could…

"Metal Claw!"

Charmander retracted one arm, as if to prepare for an uppercut, the bird Pokémon closing in fast. Mitchell could see the lizard's claws sharpen and turn to steel, and it kept its tiny fist open as the bird approached, a horrified look on its face as it saw what fate awaited it at the end of this attack. The girl tried to call to Pidgey to back out, but it was too late. Charmander crouched down and pushed off of the ground, swinging his Metal Claw as he came close to Pidgey. The claw cut through the bird's skin and blood began to seep from the wound. The remainder of the Tackle was spent barreling toward the ground at high speed. It crashed and did not try to get back up.

"Fucking worthless!" the robber screamed, her Poké Ball pointed at the fainted Pokémon. A red light shot from the button on the front, turning Pidgey into the gelatinous energy that Mitchell was used to seeing and absorbed it back into the ball, clicking to confirm that it had locked.

Charmander bounded happily over to his owner, excited that he had been able to share his owner's first match, as well as his first win. He was also glad that he had gotten to use his new attack, learned right after his final battle under Kenneth's ownership. He had practiced turning his claws to metal, but never before had he seen the power behind it.

"Don't move, you little shit!" the girl called out, and Charmander froze. He was not familiar with those words, but he had heard the tone behind them. His eyes climbed to Mitchell's, which were wide with surprise. The robber had her gun in her outstretched arm. Down the barrel, she could see Charmander's head, frozen in fear. Without thinking, Mitchell stepped in front of his Pokémon and shouted out to the girl.

"No way, bitch, we had a deal!" he screamed, and she responded with an angered cry. For a second, there was silence, but this time, it was broken by a noise that grew closer with every passing second. Two different kinds of sirens, one belonging to police. The other, Mitchell noticed, was the trademark cry of an ambulance. It had to be Kenneth's. Mitchell could see the flashing lights of the police cruisers reflected in the distant windows of shops and vehicles, and knew that they had to be close.

"They'll hear the shot," Mitchell reasoned. She knew that. After a second of contemplation, she spat out her final words for Mitchell.

"You don't know what you're missing, kid. This is the start of a long and painful relationship,"

Mitchell saw the cars coming down the street and looked through them, trying to see if there really was an ambulance coming. Two cruisers preceded it, but there it was, annoying siren blaring and making Mitchell wonder if he would go deaf standing so close. He wished he could see inside and confirm that it was Kenneth's, but every instinct told him so. It wasn't every night in quiet little Pallet Town that the ambulances were used.

As the sirens faded, Mitchell remembered that he was still at gunpoint. He looked back at where his new rival had been standing, but she was gone. Charmander seemed equally confused.

"I guess we won, buddy," the human told his Pokémon, who responded with a happy chant of his name and one hand raised into the air. At first, with the lack of light, Mitchell thought that Charmander had just raised his rock fist, and his respect for the little lizard skyrocketed. Kenneth had introduced it to some good music. He realized that it was not a rock fist, but rather a hand waiting for a high-five, but he was still amused. He lowered his hand and bent down to accommodate for the height difference and let the Pokémon slap his hand. It seemed to be happy and fully awake now, even after the rush of battle had subsided. A cold wind blew by and Mitchell went back to his realistic thoughts. They would definitely be sleeping outside tonight, and he hoped that it wouldn't rain. Looking up, there was not a cloud in the sky, but that could change on a moment's notice. He turned around and walked back over to get his backpack. Charmander followed, casting much-needed light on his belongings. He could even see his gun lying about halfway between the two streets that the alleyway connected, thanks to Charmander's tail.

There was one item on the ground, though, that was not his. Sitting next to the pack in a crumpled pile was a pair of black gloves, the ones the robber had worn. He didn't remember her taking them off, but she was not wearing them while she "frisked" him, of that he was certain. Picking them up by the openings, he wondered what he could do with these. Her fingerprints were probably all over them, and he could get her identified and jailed for armed robbery. That would require him going to the police station as well, which he already knew was not going to happen. She would get away with this crime. And, in accordance to the terms of their deal, he would forget that it ever happened.

As Charmander approached, Mitchell noticed a slight deviation in color near the wrists of the gloves. He looked at it closely and saw that maroon threads had been sewn into the gloves, spelling out a word.

"Come here, Charmander," he told the Pokémon, and it obeyed. In the light from its tail, Mitchell saw a single word.

"Bailey," he said aloud. Charmander looked at Mitchell confusedly, not knowing the word.

"Her name is Bailey," he said, and this time, Charmander understood. It ran over and picked up the gun, bringing it back to its owner as he stuffed the black gloves into his backpack. If what she had said were true, then he would want to have the gloves for their next encounter, to explain how he suddenly knows her name.

"Thanks, Char," he told the Pokémon as he took his gun back, clicking on the safety and putting it in his backpack as well. He shouldered it and stood up, starting his long walk toward Viridian City from this alleyway. As he approached the next street, his body screamed for him to just stop for the night somewhere.

"Fuck it, Charmander, are you tired?" he asked. Charmander shook his head.

"I'm tired. Can you wake me up if you see police?" he asked, and the lizard nodded.

"Thanks. Night," Mitchell said as he slid down the wall at the end of the alley, his backpack falling from his shoulder. He was going to use it as a pillow, but it seemed more comfortable to just sit there against the wall and lay his head back. Charmander sat down next to him. Instantly, he was bored.

Mitchell was silent and not touching his backpack, so Charmander sidled over and lifted it off of the ground, unzipping it quietly. He could smell the berries hidden inside more and more as the opening widened, and he suddenly became very hungry. The dark skins could be seen through the white garment, though it could have just been the shadows of the night. Charmander reached in and pulled it out, seeing a small silver object fall further down into the pack. It was Mitchell's cell phone, a Devon Vision520. It flipped open and fell to the bottom, the backlight glowing from inside.

Though the scent of the berries was enticing, the light was even more so. Like the proverbial moth drawn to the flame, Charmander dropped the sock and nearly fell forward into the pack trying to fish the light out.

Mitchell's head fell to one side, nearly resting on his shoulder, but he was fast asleep. Charmander pulled the phone out and stared at the light until it went out, thirty seconds later. As he reached for a berry, his claw pressed down on the left arrow button. The light came back on, and the screen changed, much to the surprise of the young Fire Pokémon. He glanced back at Mitchell, who was snoring lightly. Clearly he took no time in getting to sleep. On the screen, there was a list of names in white lettering, in alphabetical order. He pushed the down arrow and listened to the dull beeping as it scrolled through the names.

Soon, though, he grew bored with the new toy. His claw traced over a button that glowed green, green like the Bulbasaur he had met earlier. Well, he had seen humans push this button and talk to the toy. Maybe it would talk back? He pressed it, and immediately the screen brought up a new window. Charmander did not understand what "Dialing…Joanna" meant.

Soon, though, he heard something come out from the part of the phone that was above the screen. He put his ear closer to figure out what it was.

"-lo? Is anyone there?"

"Char!" the Pokémon shouted, recognizing the voice on the other end. Mitchell jumped out of his sleep and looked around, expecting to see a police officer rushing for him from his car, but only saw Charmander with a happy expression, speaking into his phone.

"Charmander, gimme that!" he shouted, snatching the phone away from the Pokémon. It looked at him with an angry look before reaching for the berries. As he ate from the sock, he kept a wary eye on his owner, ready to back away and hog the sock to get back at Mitchell. As nice as Charmander was, he never let anyone have the last word.

"Look, I'm sorry for calling so late at night, my Charmander was playing with my phone and it just-"

"Mitchell?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"Joanna,"

He could tell from the way she said it that it was her. Why someone would try to imitate her, to fool Mitchell, was beyond him, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that no one could ever mimic the breathtaking way she spoke. The closest streetlamp flickered, catching the teenager's attention, and he realized that he could see Joanna's house down the street he was sitting along. The loft window downstairs had the white curtains drawn, but the blue glow from behind made it clear that someone was watching TV, or had left it on. Upstairs, a small window glowed orange, between two others. It looked like a hallway between two bedrooms.

"Oh, hey, sorry, Charmander got my phone and somehow dialed your number. Sorry for waking you up," Mitchell apologized, but Joanna was quick to correct him.

"Oh, no, my dad won't freaking let me sleep. He called the cops on me, and now I've gotta wait until they pick me up and take me to the station. It's ridiculous," she complained.

"I'm not that bad an influence," Mitchell said sarcastically, "What did you do?"

She sighed.

"Nothing. He thinks I know where you are going, and you were on the news. It said to call if you had information, and he thinks I have information, so now I'm forced to stay up even later and wait for the freaking police to show up. You know, I can't believe him sometimes. I mean, if he didn't call, how would his life have been affected? Exactly, it wouldn't at all! And why does it matter if the police find you? It's not like you did anything wrong, and you aren't technically a runaway so you've done nothing wrong! Now I'm being forced to go to the police because of you!" she ranted, but realized that suddenly she was blaming him.

"Harsh," Mitchell commented, but she apologized.

"I'm sorry, it's true but I didn't mean it like that. You know what I meant. It's just it could be different, I could've said yes when Mom asked if I wanted to live with her half of the time she's overseas, but no, I had to stay with my friends and school! You know what, my friends suck! Teenagers in Pallet suck! All they ever talk about is how their parents didn't let them become Pokémon trainers when they were ten! It gets really annoying! I just want to get out of Pallet as soon as possible. And I can't stand keeping Bulbasaur here, either,"

Mitchell listened to her ranting and looked over at Charmander, who was now dumping the sock onto the ground in search of berries that he hadn't been able to fish out. Mitchell almost asked for one, but his mind was on something entirely different. Vaguely, he remembered Joanna mentioning that she wanted her knight in shining armor to come and sweep her off of her feet someday.

"Which side of your house is your room on?" Mitchell asked, noting that police sirens were slowly getting louder. Her grabbed his pack and called for Charmander to follow him, beginning his quick jog toward her house.

"It's in the back," she told him, wondering what he meant.

"I'll be there in a minute," he told her, and hung up. Charmander was close behind.

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Author Notes: This one was getting really long, so I'm going to chop it up into two separate chapters. Chapter 7 will be what I had planned for the rest of Chapter 6, and Chapter 8 will be Mitch's departure from Pallet Town (finally). Your reviews mean a lot to me, and provide inspiration for this fanfic to continue. Also, I will probably have another chapter out either later tonight or tomorrow (maybe) since I have it already planned out. After that, I may spend a couple of days planning the next few chapters, but rest assured, this fic will continue.


	7. Strangers in Tents

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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Joanna's house, as Mitchell remembered, was reminiscent of an old Colonial home, with its symmetrical square shape and windows lining the front of both the first and second story. It was made of brick with wood trim, all painted white so that it seemed to glow in the night. It was no different than the other Colonial homes along the street from the front. As Mitchell had come from the side, he could see that hers had an extension built onto the back, and the driveway rerouted to the closed overhead door that separated their garage from the outside world. This garage, along with the large pickup truck sitting outside of it, was the teenaged boy's target. If her window opened up onto the garage roof, then he would have no trouble smuggling her out of the house.

His feet pounded on the uneven pavement, the sirens growing ever closer. His body had had enough for the night, yet he felt strangely motivated, determined to push his limits as far as he could for the meantime. Charmander followed toting the berry sock, now empty. It seemed like the berries had given him some kind of unsurpassable energy that Mitchell was beginning to envy in the Pokémon. It had been up all day with Kenneth, then woken from its sleep several times throughout the night, often to the unexpected.

Kenneth. Mitchell suddenly couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier, though his mind had tried in vain to block the memory. His friend would be okay, he kept telling himself. The ambulance had gotten to him in time, and everyone on the TV had said he would be fine. But Mitchell didn't think he'd be fine. For the first time, Mitchell considered that it was possible that he would return here later in his quest to find that Kenneth was no longer with them. And even if he would survive this situation, what would happen if Edward saw that he had survived? Surely he had shot to kill. No, no, that was wrong. He had shot to kill Mitchell. Kenneth was innocent. But Edward probably didn't even care. The boy closed his eyes and hoped that his father was lying dead in a ditch, being fed on by scavenger Pokémon.

He felt the slope of the driveway far too soon and didn't realize it until he was sprawled out on the concrete. His injured chest had absorbed most of the fall, though he groaned quietly with pain as he pushed himself up. A light came on by the nearest window, the one that overlooked the driveway, and Mitchell froze in mid-push up position, his eyes widening and his breath becoming silent. Charmander was ahead of him, pressed up against the wall of the garage as if he were some sort of secret agent. The light turned off quickly afterward, as if someone had gone into the kitchen to get something from the fridge and left quickly. He sighed and looked up at his Pokémon, who had already found a trellis on the side of the garage and had begun the ascent to the roof of the first story. Knowing that it would not support his weight, Mitchell ignored the trellis altogether, jumping into the bed of the truck and stepping onto the cabin. He leapt for the roof and grabbed onto it, the dirty rain gutter groaning as he tried to avoid pushing down on it too hard. He threw one leg over and Charmander came over to help him up, pulling surprisingly hard and bringing Mitchell completely onto the rooftop. He looked at the nearest window and saw the blue glow of either a computer or TV screen. The curtains were shut but in the crack between them he could see a figure moving between various pieces of furniture quickly, as if packing in a hurry. The boy smiled and rapped on the window with his knuckle. Painted fingernails slipped through the crack and pulled them apart, revealing Joanna in her pajamas. She didn't bother changing and instead shoved clothes into a backpack not unlike Mitchell's in style, though slightly smaller. The window came open quietly.

"Here to sweep me off my feet, Sir Knight?" she asked, handing him a smaller bag that seemed to be filled with Poké Balls and other supplies. If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed her to be an experienced trainer from all of the stuff she had strewn about her room. She was still grabbing stuff, but it seemed like the sirens were right outside the front door by now. Mitchell could see the lights coming down the road, and knew that he had to hide Charmander or they would see his burning tail.

"Charmander, return!" he said, and the Pokémon turned into the jellied light and was sucked into his Poké Ball. Joanna handed Mitchell one more bag, her purse, and climbed through the window, shutting it slowly behind Bulbasaur as he followed. The cruisers were literally pulling into the driveway when the three leapt from the roof and into the grass below, rolling to absorb the impact. They jetted for the back fence as the police stepped out of their cars and walked around the house to the front door, the loud sound of Joanna's antique door knocker filling the adrenaline-filled ears of the teens as they fell into the grass again, on the other side of the wooden fence. They could not stop now; they could not stop until they were well out of Pallet Town. The bags clunked against Mitchell and Joanna grabbed her purse to lighten the load, though it was not by much. Slowly, the lights faded, and the two found themselves at the beginning of Route 1, hidden in the shadows of night and the forest. Bulbasaur was now in front of them, but slowed when he realized that the two had stopped to look back.

Both were panting. Mitchell could feel the sweat dripping down his face and pulled up his shirt to wipe it off. Joanna was saying her goodbyes in her head, which Mitchell didn't know. He looked up at her face in the moonlight, the single beam shining down and illuminating her entire face through the trees. She, too, was sweating, though it dried quickly and evaporated. Her hair was a mess, but it didn't stop her from looking gorgeous. She glanced up at Mitchell, who had stopped staring at her so that he didn't give her second thoughts about joining him on the journey. There was a short silence that they both tried to break at the same time, but Mitchell let her go first.

"What are we doing, Mitchell?" she asked seriously, as if she had suddenly been bombarded with thoughts of the repercussions of running away. Mitchell looked at her and noted that she was now nibbling on her thumbnail and pacing, followed closely by Bulbasaur.

"We're fleeing Pallet, going on a journey, getting away from my serial killer dad who is still running around town, avoiding cops for things we didn't do," he listed, and she looked up at him, as if he was trying to be sarcastic and showing it poorly.

"Look. I like you, I think you're a cool person compared to everyone I've met in Pallet your age. But … well, I don't know. We don't even know each other, Mitchell," she said. Bulbasaur rubbed against the leg of her PJs. Mitchell was slightly bothered by her sudden change of heart, but he tried not to show it too much.

"Well, I don't know what choice you really have now. And haven't we already decided I'm not out to strangle and murder you or something? Come on, I know you and Bulbasaur want out of here, and we're already started anyway, and your dad just turned you in to the police. We both have family problems, let's just leave and let live,"

"Live and let live," she corrected, but she understood the word play he had been going for. Bulbasaur croaked at Joanna, who looked down at the animal. Bulbasaur wanted to go, and to turn back now would be a horrible trick to play on the young Grass Pokémon. She looked back at her house, then at Mitchell, then at Bulbasaur.

"Yeah, okay. I mean, I didn't just jump off my house for nothing, right?" she reasoned, though her doubts were flying in below the radar. Mitchell suggested that they keep going, since it was a while to Viridian City and they wanted to make it to the Pokémon Center as soon as they could. They walked in silence again, dangling on a thread between consciousness and sweet, sweet sleep, though the chilling breeze that had become a constant annoyance was making sure that they kept moving. Mitchell released Charmander with hope that the lizard could keep them warm, but he could not. His tail provided warmth only to things very close, and he didn't want to breathe fire on his owner and friends.

"I'm cold," Joanna repeated, pulling on a sweater tucked into her backpack. Mitchell just kept moving, thinking of how relieved he would be once he stepped through the sliding doors of the Center in Viridian City. He would waste no time in getting there, but according to the map that Joanna had pointed out in the Pokédex, they were little more than halfway by the time the moon was blocked out by the nighttime clouds. They stumbled in pitch darkness until Joanna suggested that they just set up camp. Mitchell was about to agree, but he could see a light on the horizon.

"No, let's just go hang out by that camp up there. I'm sure they won't mind if they're trainers," Mitchell suggested, but Joanna shook her head.

"If they're trainers, they'll want to battle. And I'm not battling in the cold. Gimme a blanket, maybe, but not right now. Let's just stop here,"

But Mitchell pressed onward, caring not for his accomplice's logic. They would only be there for a little while, and if the trainers at the camp wanted to battle, then they could just tell a lie. They whited out and were on their way to a Pokémon Center, but it got cold and they saw the fire. Yes, that would do nicely. They felt the air growing warmer as they approached the flame. Whoever had made the fire was sleeping in a large tent nearby that shuddered when the wind picked up. A dull noise could be heard inside, a mysterious voice interspersed between several bouts of crackling static. Someone was talking on the radio.

"We'll warm up and leave," Joanna said, her ears perking up when she heard the voice from inside the tent. "I'm not keen on being happy-slashed by some wanna-be Frederick Klein,"

"Happy-slashed. Never heard that one before," Mitchell said, now feeling a creeping paranoia as it moved up and down his body. He glanced uneasily at the tent and heard the radio turn down. Joanna watched the tent flap fall open as a man stepped through, eying the kids warily.

"Excuse me? Who are you?" the man asked. Joanna could see that he was tall and probably in his early thirties, with short brown hair and a pair of nearly invisible glasses sitting on the slightly crooked bridge of his nose. He was dressed in pajamas that looked very warm, but not particularly comfortable. The dull crackle of the radio could still be heard from behind the man.

"We're sorry, it's just really cold and we saw the fire. We're trainers," Joanna apologized. The man seemed suspicious of the two.

"Doesn't Pallet have a curfew?" he asked coldly, as if he absolutely despised teenagers and wanted them gone immediately. Joanna spoke again, cutting off Mitchell. "No, that doesn't apply to nonresident trainers,"

"How do you know that?"

"A police officer stopped us and asked if we were trainers, and he told me that."

"Do you have proof?"

She pointed at Bulbasaur, and the man in the tent finally accepted that they were who they said they were. He unzipped the tent even further and stepped out, but backed into it when the fiercely cold breeze cut into him like a knife.

"I'm sorry for being so interrogative," he said, "but the news was talking about some man who beat his family and escaped into the woods before he was caught. I only caught the gist of it, though, and you over there, boy; you look kinda threatening with that bruise. What happened?" the man in the tent said, to which Mitchell replied, "Tripped and fell into the corner of a countertop,"

The man opened the tent fully and beckoned for the teenagers to join him inside.

"Well, I don't want you both out in the cold all night. It's not usually like this, I don't know where this wind came from but it's been blowing around here all night. I got caught on my way back to Viridian City. I work at the Pokémart up there," he explained. Mitchell and Joanna looked at each other, trying to decide if he was trustworthy. He noticed this.

"Here, have a Potion on me. There's your proof, it's marked 'Not for Resale'." Joanna caught the small purple bottle and looked at it, nodding to her partner who stood up and approached the tent, listening to the crackle of the radio.

"What's up with that thing?" he asked, extending his hand to shake with the man.

"No clue. I'm trying to listen to a murder-mystery program but the damned thing keeps crackling. Kills the suspense. I'm Hardy," he said.

"Mitch,"

"Jo,"

The teens went inside the tent and sat down on the floor, relieved that the wind was now blocked out by the orange canvas. Hardy shut the opening and sat down as well, starting to tinker with the radio. The teens remained silent, looking to find objects to focus on during this awkward moment.

"Bulbasaur," the Pokémon said, and Hardy looked up.

"Where'd you get one of those, Jo? I've always wanted one but Oak's the only one I know, and he only gives 'em out to starting trainers," the older man said, slamming his hand against the top of the machine. For a second, the reception was crystal clear, but it crackled and died the moment after.

"Oak gave it to my mother to give to me for my birthday. They're close friends," she explained, but Hardy wasn't listening. He hit the radio again and it flickered to life, but the channel was playing nothing but white noise. He cursed and kicked the machine, angry at it for screwing up. He looked again at Bulbasaur, who had sat down and was leaning into Joanna, who stroked his head lightly. Mitchell crossed his legs and watched Bulbasaur jealously, wondering what her reaction would be if he put his head in her lap. It wouldn't end well, especially with her expressing a want to return home earlier. He envied the Pokémon but kept a straight face.

"So, you guys have plans for your futures as trainers? Gonna challenge the League? Earn your badges? The works?" Hardy asked. Joanna answered first, saying that she wasn't sure yet. She explained that while technically she was an official trainer in the League database, she did not have her own Pokédex, and therefore had no ID or way of communicating her finds to the professor.

"Well, I might be able to help you with that. I know we've got a delivery for Professor Oak waiting for him at the shop, but we're just going to ship it in. I could attach a note asking him to deliver one into your Inbox, assuming you have an account on the Item Storage Network," Hardy told her. She smiled and said that that would be nice, and Hardy turned his attention to Mitchell.

"And you?"

"I've got my Pokédex and I guess I also have the Item Storage thing, if Oak made me one,"

"No, I meant to ask about your future. Badges, League Champion?"

"I honestly don't know. I was never allowed to go really anywhere until today," he told the man, who thought about the answer for a while.

"Why today?"

"Parents," he answered. Hardy laughed.

"They kept you until now? I feel sorry for you,"

"Thanks,"

The light on the front of the radio froze, illuminated with green light. On the front, there was a small TV display that worked only for the news. That was the channel it was tuned to.

"The news is a bunch of lies, I hate local reporters," Hardy said, his finger about to change the channel, but the broadcast caught his attention.

"Joanna Reese disappeared from her house earlier tonight shortly before she was to be picked up for questioning following the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Mitchell Direnetti. We received an anonymous tip that she would be able to provide the whereabouts of the boy, but when police officers arrived at her house, they could find no trace of her. Her room was messier than usual, according to her father, and several clothing items were found to be missing. If you have information on the disappearances of either Mitchell Direnetti or Joanna Reese, please contact the Pallet Police Department,"

Hardy looked up at the two teens in shock.

"What did you say your names were?"

"Dwayne,"

"Sharon,"

Hardy dove for his phone, but Joanna beat him to it, her thin fingers wrapping around the device and squeezing tightly to prevent letting it slip. The man landed on top of her and pinned her to the floor. She yelled for him to get off and elbowed him in the gut, causing him to back off of her. Mitchell was reaching into his backpack for his gun, but he knew that it would be a very bad thing for him to brandish it. This man would probably already report them, and if he were threatened, the police would be even more watchful for Joanna and her bruised comrade.

"Bulbasaur, door!" Joanna shouted to the Pokémon, and he nodded and barked in agreement, one of his vines shooting forward and wrapping around the thin zipper. He yanked it downward and the flap fell open, cold air floating inward against the powerful wind current. Mitchell grabbed Joanna's hand and pulled her up, feeling the phone in her grip. Hardy lunged and grabbed her foot, which she kicked back at him, losing her sandal. The ground outside was cold and hard, and she refused to leave without her only pair of open-toed shoes. Mitchell let go and she knocked Hardy to the side, her foot jamming up into his groin. His eyes rolled upward and he fell over, his hands reacting instinctively but covering him too late. Joanna grabbed the shoe with her toes and slid it on, then ran out past the fire with the others. They ran until they could no longer move, their chests rising and falling rapidly, the feel of the cool air in their burning lungs soothing yet painful at the same time. Mitchell was the first to speak.

"They really have to stop broadcasting that kind of stuff," he panted, and Joanna nodded.

"I could get used to this," she said, still jogging into the cold night.

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Author Notes: FINALLY out of Pallet. And it only took seven chapters. I have planned up to Chapter…13, I believe, which is part of where I've been the past week or so. The other part was Harry Potter 7. Anyway, read and reviews, I love to hear your opinions and such. Who knows, leaving a review might convince me to go and leave you some reviews as well, so we both benefit from the situation.

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	8. Closure

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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The day was breaking as four figures appeared on the horizon, the tall grass bending around their bodies as they came closer to the small sign that stood on the right side of the path. While the wood was old and rotten, the lime green paint that seemed to glow with its own light was fresh and new. The figures squinted as the sun rose over the treeline to the west. The letters were clear, even with the glare of the sun. They had finally reached Viridian City. Past the sign, the path that resulted from years of light footsteps compounding the dirt together widened and turned to stone. As they approached the town, a woman looked out her window and saw them. One was a tall boy wearing a pair of jeans and a dark brown t-shirt. His face was marred by a nasty bruise on the left side. The second tallest of the approaching figures was a girl with short auburn hair, wearing khaki pants that reached down to her knees and a blue top. Alongside the two were two Pokémon, a Charmander and a Bulbasaur. The woman smiled, seeing that although they looked older than normal, they were obviously starting trainers. She sipped a cup of tea and smiled, remembering when she, too, walked the same road with her love.

The night had ended late for them, but the morning had started early. Mitchell was still rubbing his eyes to try and wake up, since he was not used to only getting a couple of hours of sleep. Joanna had enough energy for the two of them, though, and the Pokémon were as active as ever. Charmander was carrying one of Mitchell's socks again and grabbing handfuls of berries whenever they passed by a bush that grew them. While Joanna didn't think it was a good idea to let the lizard just eat whatever was growing, she observed him completely ignoring certain berry bushes. Mitchell said that he knew what he was doing, though the boy himself wasn't sure either. Having no other way to explain it, he let the Pokémon do what he wanted for food.

The morning had been so much different than the night before. The cold winds were something they never would have even considered possible near Pallet Town had they not experienced them for themselves. Yet, they woke to a mild temperature and mid-level humidity, the frozen dirt turned soft underneath them. None of them ever remembered falling asleep, and from the awkward positions they assumed that it had happened while they were standing or running. Joanna insisted on changing out of her pajamas upon waking, and didn't mind doing it in front of Mitchell, since he was still asleep anyway. She woke him up shortly after with a light tap to his side. He retracted as if he were ticklish in that spot, so she did it again. He was. His hand shot over to his side and he covered it up.

"What time is it?" he mumbled, his face resting on the dirt.

"It's eight, come on,"

"Sleeping now. Gimme an hour," he said.

"No, get up. Viridian City is right there, I can see it," she told him. Charmander's Poké Ball popped off of Mitchell's belt and opened, the Pokémon scratching his head with his foot. Joanna stepped over the sleeping boy and tickled him again, on the other side.

"Fine, up, up," he said, pushing himself out of the dirt and up onto his knees. She was now dressed in clothing more suitable for travel, while Mitchell was still in his dirty, stained shirt and sweatpants. His bag was still on his back and he thought it might be a good idea to change like she had. He unzipped his bag, trying in vain to rub the sleep from his eyes and pulled out a pair of jeans and a new shirt. Joanna pretended to not pay attention and watched Charmander pluck berries from the bush nearby. Mitchell changed shirts quickly, not wanting her to see the bruise that seemed to have enlarged as time passed. They started down the road soon after, spotting the Viridian sign and the woman watching them approach. Joanna asked Mitchell if he thought that the woman was waiting for them to get close enough to match them to a police photo or something. She turned around with her tea and walked away before she would have been able to discern the identifying characteristics of the two, so they both agreed that for now, they were safe.

The town was beginning to show the first signs of morning life. Front doors were opening and the citizens were trickling out, making their way to coffee shops and workplaces. A police officer on a motorbike waved at Mitchell and Joanna as they approached with their Pokémon close behind. It seemed that they hadn't yet been told to watch for the two teens. Both suspected that it wouldn't last long, so they wanted to get through Viridian City as quickly as possible. The red-roofed Pokémon Center, part Pokémon hospital and part trainer inn, sat between two similarly sized buildings. The Pokémart, nearly identical to the Center but with a blue roof, was also visible upon entering the town. Both teens readjusted their backpack straps as they walked on, coming up to the Center's automatic sliding door and walking through.

"Good morning!" the high-pitched voice of the nurse called out to the two as they entered. Joanna returned the greeting, while Mitchell gave a half-hearted wave and walked for the door on his left. Through the glass he could see a set of lockers, but more importantly, beds. His mind begged for a comfortable mattress and a full night's sleep, just a little bit of relief after his crazy night in Pallet. Expecting the door to slide open in front of him, he kept walking until the glass stopped him. Joanna giggled and the nurse pointed to the small slot next to it.

"Trainers need to put their Pokédexes in that slot to get in. It's there because homeless people used to use up the trainer beds instead of going to their shelters. Not that we've got something against the homeless, but this is specifically a place for trainers," the nurse explained. Mitchell slid his Pokédex into the opening and it beeped. There was an automated whirring sound and an audible click before the door slid open.

"Welcome, Mitchell Direnetti," the door said with a computerized female voice. Inside, the walls were painted a dark navy color and completely lacking windows. The left wall was completely covered from ceiling to floor with medium-sized green lockers, while the others were lined with twin-size beds. Mitchell saw two trainers sleeping, both young boys. Neither could be older than twelve, but they had such innocent looks on their faces. They looked nothing like Mitchell had at that age. He would be restless under the blankets, whimpering, waking up every few minutes to make sure his father wasn't standing over him with the belt. They had been lucky enough to start their journeys with warm, heartfelt goodbyes. Their moms worried about their little babies, but not like Amber Direnetti worried.

Mitchell wanted to call and let her know that he was okay, but if the police were at his house when he called, they might've been able to trace the call to Viridian City.

Almost as if on cue, he felt his phone start vibrating in his back pocket. He didn't remember ever switching the ring style from silent and thought about just ignoring the call, like he had every other call from last night. After the third buzz, he reached for it and flipped it open. The number on the screen was unfamiliar, but he pressed the green button anyway and put the phone to his ear, waiting for a greeting.

"Mitch?" the voice on the other end asked after a second or two of silence.

"Kenny?" Mitchell said incredulously, receiving an enthusiastic yes in response.

"Man, I called you, like, eight times! Why haven't you answered your phone?"

"What number is this?"

"My hospital room," Kenneth replied.

"Are you alright?"

"Can't feel a thing. Morphine's funny that way. I think they dug the bullet out last night when I got in, but I was unconscious. I don't even remember when the ambulance showed up, but they keep telling me that I was answering questions and stuff. They reviewed it with me this morning, and I flat out lied about what you were doing,

"Oh, and I'm gonna be fine, they said. Oak called and told me I got the job. Is this line secure?"

Mitchell didn't think about it, but he assumed it was.

"It is unless they tapped that phone,"

"I think the hospital wouldn't let the police do it. Some kind of violation of patient privacy protocol … something. Oak told me what you're doing now, too. Someone broke into his lab last night, did you hear about it? Police say it was you, but Oak insists that it was a girl with a gun. Maybe it was that Joanna girl that went missing last night?"

"Broke in?"

"Yeah, stole something. The police didn't specify, only that it was an armed robbery, and Oak didn't talk about it to me.

"Where are the police looking now?" Mitchell asked, glancing around for a television so that he could monitor how far the reports were spreading.

"Uh … they think you're still in Pallet. They've got officers at your house and my house and the Joanna girl's house looking for you. You aren't still in town, are you?"

"Nope,"

"Good. Keep going; don't stop in one place for too long unless you get over to East Kanto. I don't think they'll look for you there if Oak can keep quiet about you joining the League. If you want to talk to your mom then I can call her and ask her to come visit me or something, or you can call her on your Pokédex since the police won't know the number. If the police answer though, don't talk, just hang up. Don't give them enough time to trace it; it takes like a minute or something. But if police get hold of that number, they'll be able to pin Oak for misleading the authority figures,"

"There's a phone in the Pokédex?" Mitchell asked. One of the sleeping trainers stirred.

"Yes, and the League tracks your progress when you use it for ID at places. Pokémon Centers, Pokémarts, Gym Battles, your storage system, any of that. Police aren't normally allowed access to League databases but if they find your number they'll ask for a report from the League. They'll be able to follow your every move, so keep that number secret, alright?"

"Got it. Thanks for calling," Mitchell responded.

"Talk to you when I get out of here," said Kenneth, and he started to pull the receiver away from his ear when he heard Mitchell tell him to wait.

"One more question,"

"Yeah?"

"Edward?"

There was an unnerving silence as Mitchell waited for an answer. The boys were awakening and rubbing their eyes, trying not to stare into the lights above them that changed intensity to match the lighting conditions outside at different times per day. They glanced over to their end tables to see if their Poké Balls had been returned to them during the night. The small white and red objects were protected by small, transparent domes that opened when the owner's Pokédex was inserted in the slot below. Mitchell started wondering if he would ever receive an answer, and finally, one came.

"They found him," Kenneth said.

"Is he?"

"I'm sorry,"

Mitchell faltered.

"Don't be. How did it…you know, what happened?"

"He crashed a car. It was dark and he was driving through the forest and hit a tree. He got halfway through the windshield,"

"Thanks for calling. I'll see you," Mitchell said, and hung up. He stared at the phone's screen until the backlight went out a minute later. Why didn't he feel sadness? Shouldn't he have at least felt a little bit of remorse for acting in such a way that indirectly led to his father's death? What would Mom think if he didn't shed a single tear for their loss?

One of the trainers stood up and yawned, stretching his arms up high into the air. He looked like he had overslept big time, based on the hurry he seemed to be in as he shoved his Poké Balls into his backpack after inserting his Pokédex into the end table. His friend rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow after being told to get up. Mitchell walked over to a locker near the far wall and pulled it open.

"Get up, Danny," Mitchell heard the trainer tell his drowsy companion, "I want to be in Pewter City by sundown, and we've gotta go through the forest to get there,"

He walked over to the locker next to Mitchell and opened it, grabbing the small things he had put in there: a belt, a keychain, and his cap. The older boy shoved his backpack into the locker and closed it, turning to the right to survey each bed and decide which one looked the most comfortable. The young trainer looked up at Mitchell and saw his bruise.

"Holy crap, dude, what did you do?" he asked.

"Long story," Mitchell replied. The boy followed him over to his chosen bed, the one that the air vent blew on. He could never sleep when it was too hot.

"Did you lose?" the boy asked.

"No,"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I won. Loser is a lot worse off," he said coldly, surprising even himself. The boy did not know what he was talking about at all.

"I don't believe you,"

Mitchell sat down and kicked his shoes off, wanting the boy to go away before he put his head on the pillow. His expression showed that he was obviously annoyed with the trainer.

"You're twelve. What do I care what you think?"

"Almost thirteen,"

"Okay, look. I'm tired. Last night I got attacked by my dad, my best friend got shot, my mom got beaten, and I almost got shot and raped. I've got too much on my mind to give a fuck what a twelve year old thinks, so just shut your damn mouth and let me sleep, or I'll go get a needle from the nurse and stitch it up for you!" Mitchell nearly roared at the trainer. He backed away, clearly shocked, his friend Danny sliding his head up under the pillow and mashing it to his ears so that he couldn't hear the argument. The trainer walked over and pushed Danny off of his bed. The sleeping boy rolled underneath the bed and put his head on his arm for a pillow.

"You're freaking impossible, Danny," the other boy said. Danny mumbled something back, likely an insult, but the meaning was indiscernible. Mitchell put his head down on his pillow and heard the door into the room slide open. He looked up and saw Charmander and Bulbasaur bounding in through the door, followed by Joanna. She had a cup in her hand and the faint smell of coffee floated up into Mitchell's nostrils. He hated the smell and knew that with it in the room, there was no way he'd be able to sleep. In her other hand, she held Mitchell's Pokédex, which he had absentmindedly left in the door slot.

"No, you can't go back to sleep, we're already awake," Joanna told him. He responded by pulling the blanket up to his neck and putting his head underneath the pillow.

"Here, drink this," she said, holding the cup out for Mitchell to take.

"I don't drink coffee," came the muffled response from underneath the pillow.

"It's not coffee. The nurse made it, and she said it helps bruises. We'll need to hide yours if we don't want people recognizing us,"

"Gimme that," he said, knocking the pillow aside and emerging from his warm, dark world to take that cup. It looked just like coffee, and when he took a sip, he realized that it tasted exactly like coffee.

"What is this?" he asked, taking another sip.

"Coffee,"

"I knew it," Mitchell said, "It's got a weird aftertaste,"

"That's an Awakening tablet,"

Almost instantly, Mitchell felt alert. The bed was no longer as appealing as it had been just seconds before. He stood up and sipped a little bit more, wishing the cup was a little bit bigger. His mother loved coffee, but both Edward and Mitchell hated it. Because of that, Amber never got to drink it. The strange, tart flavoring of the Awakening tablet forced Mitchell to enjoy the coffee, and he was fine with it if it meant that he would have one less similarity between him and Edward. He looked over at the two boys, who were petting Charmander and Bulbasaur.

"Hey," Mitchell said, and both looked up. He locked eyes with the one he had snapped at earlier.

"Sorry about … well, sorry. But I didn't lose,"

"No, I shouldn't have … well, yeah, thanks," the boy said, walking over and extending his hand.

"Eric,"

"I'm Mitch,"

Other greetings followed, and once they were all acquainted, Mitchell went to retrieve his stuff from the locker. Now that he was awake, he wanted to go out and start being a trainer. His hand fell on the one empty Poké Ball he had, the one Joanna had given him back in Pallet Town. No, he couldn't use it on just any Pokémon. It had to be a special one.

"So, are you going to try and get your badges?" Eric asked Mitchell. Mitchell looked at Charmander, as if to ask if the Pokémon wanted to, and Charmander gave him a thumbs-up.

"Yeah, I am,"

"I think I am too," Joanna said, and Bulbasaur nodded. Eric raised an eyebrow.

"Is Charmander all you have, Mitchell?" he asked, and Mitchell nodded.

"You won't get past the Pewter City Gym with just Charmander. I don't doubt your abilities or anything, but you've got a major type disadvantage. If you've got a fishing rod, you could head south to Pallet Town and try to catch a Staryu, or you can check the lakes around here for Psyduck," Eric explained. Both of the teens were surprised at the young boy's knowledge of the locations different Pokémon could be found.

"I don't have a fishing rod," Mitchell said.

"Well, you could head west to Route 2 and try to find a Mankey, but they're pretty elusive. I've been trying to find one for three days but I got nothing. We decided to just move on. I'm sure I'll do fine with my party,"

"Thanks for the advice," Joanna said, and then she turned to Mitchell. "I think we should get going then, try and find you a Mankey,"

She reached into her pack and dug out a small bag, which contained a supply of Poké Balls from back in Pallet Town. She grabbed the five most easily accessible ones and held them out for Mitchell. He looked up and asked where she had gotten all of them.

"Employee discount. I had nothing else to buy, and I figured someday I'd be doing this Pokémon journey thing. Might as well prepare, right?"

All six of them left the Pokémon Center as a group, but once they reached a fork in the road, Eric and Danny took the north one, and the others went west. In the distance, Mitchell saw a fenced-in area of tall grass near a large natural rock formation. He set his eyes on it and kept walking.

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Author Notes: It took so long because I despise having to type up what I physically write down on paper. Most of the time, what I end up writing is very small and mashed together, since the paper I used was unlined, and I have to sit there and strain to figure out where I left off. And it isn't like I could just prop it up and type it, since the print is too small! Anyway, now that we're past this part, we'll get into the first couple of catches that Mitch and Jo make. Also, we see a familiar face return in the next chapter. Read and review, people!

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	9. Aquaphobia

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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The sun was high and hot over the heads of the two trainers, who stood waist-deep in yellowed grass, the shorter blades scratching at Joanna's legs and making her bend over and swat at them furiously. In a way, it was comical, but she could think of nothing more annoying. Mitchell had made a comment to her that she should have worn jeans, and if she hadn't have been so angry with the grass then she would have agreed with him. Charmander had decided to go back into his Poké Ball so he would not set the dry field on fire and burn out all of the wild Pokémon within. Neither knew what time it was, though they suspected that noon had come and gone. Both were sweating, wishing to themselves that the mysterious chilling winds from the night before would sweep through once more, just to cool them off a little bit. They had passed a pond back at the entrance to Viridian City from Route 2, and Joanna knew that the heat couldn't be good for a Grass Pokémon like Bulbasaur.

"This is ridiculous," Mitchell shouted to Joanna from across the field. She didn't know what he was talking about, but he wasn't finished talking.

"How long's it been? Four, five, six hours maybe? Not a single Mankey. I'm tired of all these Rattata. Maybe we should head further in?"

Bulbasaur barked with disapproval, and Joanna picked up on what he meant. She reached for the plastic water bottle that she had bought in town before they left, but it was empty. The Grass Pokémon whimpered. The girl lifted her leg to swat away the grass.

"I think we should head back and sit in the shade for a little while. Give it a couple hours and come back, we'll see one eventually. Let's just go back to the pond,"

The blades of grass around Mitchell suddenly parted and shut quickly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of movement. Joanna watched Mitchell rush after the parting grass futilely, but as they approached the edge of the field the unknown creature stopped moving.

"Charmander, go!" Mitchell yelled, and the Fire Pokémon erupted from the Poké Ball, shouting his name as a battle cry before setting off on all fours after the elusive figure. Neither of the trainers was moving at all, and both were holding their breath, wondering if Charmander had caught the Pokémon. It was a very quick one, quick enough to have avoided notice these few hours. Perhaps it had become tired of hiding and wanted to try and make a run for it.

A jet of flame erupted from the area of the field the two Pokémon had come to a standstill in, scorching the grass. A high-pitched squeal followed the roar of the flame, and then there was silence.

Mitchell reached for an empty Poké Ball and rushed forward, closing the distance between him and the fainted Pokémon. When he got to the smoldering edge of the hole Charmander had made, the excitement on his face changed to frustration.

"Damn Rattata!"

Joanna and Bulbasaur walked over to the hole and looked down at the burned rodent, watching it as it tried to summon the strength to continue fighting. It finally gave up when it saw the four faces staring down at it and lay still. With one last sigh it gave into unconsciousness, knowing that it would wake up fully healed, but in captivity.

Mitchell started to walk away, while the other three stood and continued looking at the fainted rat. In a way, it was fascinating, and Joanna kept mentally comparing herself to a small child with a magnifying glass, standing over an anthill and burning the ants as they came up through the tiny hole in the top. Charmander was the first to notice his owner had left, and the others quickly followed suit.

"What are you doing?" Joanna called after him. He kept walking, but turned his head to the side so she could hear him.

"I'm gonna find a Mankey,"

"You're just gonna leave this Rattata here?" she asked, but he didn't respond.

"Come on, Mitch, you can't just leave this defenseless thing here, scavengers will come and eat it! You'd just let a Pokémon die like that?"

He stopped and turned around, now feeling guilty. In truth, he had thought about leaving it behind, and probably would have if Joanna weren't around. But he also knew that chances were, he would never use the Rattata for anything, though it had been a quick little bugger. Mitchell stopped again.

"Why don't you take it? Add it to your ever-expanding collection?"

Joanna's hand fell lightly on the Poké Ball containing the newest addition to her team, a Spearow that she had caught earlier that morning. Bulbasaur had found it first, trying to flee from the encroaching footsteps and the scratching of dry grass. As the bird lifted off of the ground, Bulbasaur's vines had shot out and wrapped around its wings, pulling it in closely and tackling it. Either it was too early in the morning for this bird or it had already been weakened, because it dropped like a brick. It was her first capture.

"Because it's rightfully yours, I don't want to take it if it isn't mine,"

"Call it a gift," Mitchell responded, his eyes scanning the grass for any movement that seemed like it could not have been made with the wind.

"You'd give me a Rattata for a present?" Joanna asked, half-sarcastically, before dropping one of her Poké Balls on the fainted Pokémon. The ball shook half-heartedly, the final chance at escape, before locking shut. She picked it up and clipped it to her belt, noticing that Mitchell was still walking further into the grass.

"Mitchell, you're gonna overexert yourself and get dehydrated or something. Remember, you're only awake because I drugged you. Don't overdo it. Let's go back and rest for a little bit," she shouted after him. He seemed to struggle with his thoughts before finally turning around and going with her. They left the grass and Joanna felt relieved to no longer have the constant grazing of grass on her legs, though the fresh air felt foreign to her. They could see the red roof of the Pokémon Center in the distance, past the town entrance. The pond was on the right hand sign, the edges shaded by great oak trees. Charmander was reluctant to approach the lake, while Bulbasaur ran forward and launched himself off of a rock, the splash loud and huge.

"Ugh, I still think I feel that grass rubbing on me," Joanna said, and she stepped into the shallowest part of the water. She left her shoes up by her bag, which was propped up next to the tree that Charmander was sitting next to. The Fire Pokémon stared at the water as if it could jump up and attack him at any moment, as if the need would arise to fight, but neither trainer mentioned a thing. Both could see the bright flame burning at the tip of his tail. It was common knowledge that if the flame went out, Charmander would die.

_Poor guy_, Joanna thought to herself. Her feet sank an inch or two into the soft mud and she pulled them out, descending further into the shallow pool as Bulbasaur swam around happily. Mitchell dropped his bag next to Charmander and sat down with the Pokémon, his stare almost identical to the lizard's. He was beginning to feel the light sting of sunburn on the back of his neck and arms and wished that he had thought to ask Joanna for sunscreen. Despite the time she had spent in the sun, her healthy glow had not changed a bit. His shirt was drenched in sweat and sticking to his body, and he wanted to discard it. But if he did, the next step would be to get in the water.

"Come on, Mitch, water's great!" Joanna shouted back happily, now down to her waist. Bulbasaur sucked in a great gulp of the clear liquid and spat it on Joanna's head, and she shrieked with surprise but was not angry. She pushed her hand through the water and splashed Bulbasaur, who retracted and started to send waves at her with his vines. Mitchell looked at Charmander, whose seeming enmity for the pond had not faded.

"No, I'm fine here," he called back.

"Are you sure? You can wash off all that sweat,"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm gonna keep Charmander company," he said, but he knew he was lying. Both Charmander and Mitchell sat against the tree in the shade, their eyes aimed at the center of the pond, not distracted by the moving figures that periodically passed. He didn't know what Charmander was thinking about as he stared into the water, whether it was that he could never be like Bulbasaur or of his natural weakness. Mitchell was dwelling on a bad memory.

_The boy sat in the bathtub, laughing as his mom massaged a dime-sized drop of coconut shampoo into his short brown hair. She had a smile on her face today, which made the boy happy. He tilted his head back as she reached for a plastic cup and filled it with water, holding her hand just above his forehead so that the shampoo didn't run down into his eyes. The water was warm, and he could feel a little bit of it drip from her hand and slide down. The light stinging was a nuisance, above all, and young Mitchell did not cry._

"_Oh, I'm sorry!" Amber Direnetti apologized, grabbing a dry towel and using it to dab the water from Mitchell's eye. He reached up and grabbed it out of her hand, rubbing his eye with it before giving it back. She dunked the cup again for another rinse._

"_Mommy, wanna hear a joke?" the boy asked. She smiled and her face seemed to light up. Mitchell didn't know it, but it was a relief to her to hear optimism in her son's voice. He knew that Mommy and Daddy fought a lot, but he didn't know what it was about. She told him that their arguments were so that she could make them all happy, and he accepted it without question. She set the cup down on the edge of the tub and wiped her wet hands on her sweat pants._

"_Why was six afraid of seven?" the little boy asked, and Amber smiled. She, of course, knew the answer. She had asked her mother the same question when she had been this age._

"_I don't know, why was six afraid of seven?" she responded. His eyes glowed with the knowledge that his mom had not been able to guess, that sense of victory before the punch line._

"_Because seven ate nine!"_

_She smiled and laughed a little._

"_That was a good one, Mitchell! Where did you hear that?"_

"_There was a phone number on TV. I called it for jokes,"_

_Silence fell on them like a heavy blanket. Amber's jolly mood suddenly became very serious, and she looked Mitchell dead in the eyes._

"_How long were you on the phone with them?"_

_Mitchell was getting scared._

"_Yesterday," he said._

"_All of yesterday?"_

"_Until the cartoons stopped coming on,"_

_Amber told Mitchell to sit still and not touch anything. He looked up at her confusedly, but she just held out one finger and said she'd be back in a minute. She passed through the bathroom door and made a left into the hallway, checking along every counter she passed. The phone bill was supposed to come today, and if the charges from the joke calls had been added within the past 24 hours-_

"_MITCHELL!" roared Edward, his voice nearly rattling the house. Mitchell only heard this voice if his mom and dad were fighting each other. A new kind of fear enveloped him when he heard his own name said this way, and he reached for something to try and hide from the footsteps that he heard pounding up the stairs. All he could find was the towel that his mother had given him for his eye, and he grabbed it and held it up like a shield when his father's dominating figure appeared in the doorway. Amber was right behind him, screaming, "He's only a child, Edward, how could he know?" But Edward was not listening. He knocked Amber backward and ran into the bathroom, knelt down at the bathtub and wrapped his hand around his son's neck. Mitchell gulped for air as he felt the water coming up over his head. His tiny hands tried to slide up under his dad's, but the man's grip was too powerful. He squeezed three times and used his other hand to cover Mitchell's nose and mouth. The shampoo in the water burned the boy's eyes and he could see the bathroom light above, distorted and ever moving as his struggles kicked up small waves. He saw a shadow behind Edward grab his arm and try to pull him away, heard his mom screaming his name. She was crying, he could tell, and he would have been too if he had been able to. The grip tightened and Edward began shouting at Amber._

"_He's a child! Please, let him go!" Amber cried out, but Mitchell could not hear much anymore. His body was begging him for air, but he could do nothing but shut his eyes and wait for his dad to release him. He was starting to move less and less by the second. Edward lifted his hand and Mitchell's nose and mouth instinctively inhaled, the water rushing in and causing him to try to choke it back up. Edward's expression was clear through the water, his face turned almost purple with rage. Amber was crying intensely and slamming her hands on her husband's back to get him to stop. She groped for anything nearby she could use to stop Edward, but the room was too clean for anything to have been just left out. With no other option, she wrenched the hard toilet seat from its place and slammed it down on Edward's head. Instantly, the man's grip vanished and Mitchell pushed his head up above the water, spitting up water and inhaling sweet air. Edward attempted to stand but stumbled and fell backward. Amber's hand was over her mouth, as if she couldn't believe what she had just done. Mitchell started crying, his eyes red and irritated and his breaths short and frantic. Edward, dizzy from the hit, looked up at the boy as Amber rushed forward to retrieve him from the tub._

"_You were an accident, you hear me, boy! I never wanted a damn child like you! You've been a waste of my life for years, remember that! Remember we never wanted you!" Edward shouted after Mitchell as his mom rushed through the door with him. Not knowing what else to do, she called the hospital to get Edward away from her. Hopefully Edward's concussion would buy her and Mitchell a few days of peace._

"Alright, we're done for now. Mitchell? Mitchell?" Joanna said, snapping her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. After the second snap, he came to his senses and looked up at her. She was drenched and trying to dry herself off with both the sun and her towel, while Bulbasaur just let the water run off of his skin.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and he nodded. Charmander had stood up and was ready to get back to battling, so Mitchell knew that he had to be ready as well.

"I'm fine," he said, putting on his best fake smile to convince her. It worked.

Almost as soon as he said this, he saw a whitish blur swing by the trees to the west. It seemed to be following the road, and now Mitchell had a clear view of it.

"There it is! Get it, Charmander!" Mitchell yelled, his flashback now resting in the depths of his subconscious to be reawakened another day. The Mankey had not seen them yet, but the two trainers and two Pokémon followed it quickly. When he was close enough, Charmander launched into the air.

"Metal Claw!" the trainer yelled, and the lizard raised its arm, his claws extending and sharpening, shining like steel. The pig-like creature stopped swinging and turned around to look, still hanging on by one arm, when it saw Charmander flying toward it.

"Man-KEY!" it screeched as the claws tore through its skin, three gashes appearing and starting to leak blood onto its off-white coat. Mitchell could see the change in its eyes, even from fifty feet away. Charmander kicked off of the enemy and landed on the ground below, hopping backward a few times to get distance between the two. The monkey dropped down onto the ground and stared down his opponent.

"Ember!"

The Fire Pokémon began to build up a flame in its mouth, but the Mankey was not going to wait. It barreled toward Charmander quickly and spun around on its heel, the other foot flying up and connecting with Charmander's stomach. The flame building up in his mouth dispersed into the air as he let out a cry of pain and pressed both hands on the site of the impact, trying to ease the pain with pressure.

"Back off a little, Charmander, get another Ember going!" Mitchell yelled, now less than ten feet away. He did not dare get any closer, knowing that the Mankey was liable to attack him as well. It squatted and began to stare down Charmander again as the fireball built up in his mouth.

"He's trying to intimidate Charmander," Joanna spoke from behind. Mitchell nodded.

"Don't look him in the eyes!" he shouted to his Pokémon, who let loose the jet of flames that scattered when they left his mouth. Clusters landed on the fur of the Mankey, burning the wounded flesh around the Metal Claw wounds and causing it to scream again. This one, though, sounded more like a cry for help than anything.

"Bulbasaur!" the Grass Pokémon barked, and Joanna looked down confusedly. She didn't know what he was trying to say until she knelt down and Bulbasaur popped up on his hind legs, pointing one leg at her backpack.

"Pack?" she asked, and the Pokémon nodded.

"What about it?"

It pointed to the Mankey, which was lying on the ground in agony. Mitchell pressed the button on an empty Poké Ball and threw it at the Fighting type. It turned into the jellied light and became enclosed in the ball, which sat on the ground and started to rock back and forth.

"Mankey pack?" Joanna asked Bulbasaur, and he nodded again. It took a minute before she realized what he meant.

"Mitch, we gotta go NOW," she said, but the ball had not stopped rocking yet.

"Three…two…" he counted down in his head. He didn't know how long it would actually take, but it helped him to count anyway.

"It called the rest of the pack!" she shouted. The ball clicked shut and sparkled.

"What?" Mitchell asked, "How do you know?"

"Because I speak Mankey, let's leave, now!" she said sarcastically, turning and starting to run for Viridian City. Mitchell picked up his new teammate and glanced at Charmander, who seemed to have no idea what Joanna was talking about. As he started his own run, though, Mitchell saw a large white mass moving among the trees above him. He looked up and saw no less than twenty Mankey standing in the branches. All of them looked down at him with a hungry gaze.

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Author Notes: Wow, I finished that one much more quickly than I thought I would. Staying up to wait for Smash Bros. Updates will do that to a person. Hooray for character development! Well, my contacts are doing the late-night-fade-in-fade-out thing they always do when it's late at night, so I'm gonna wrap this up. If you read, please review, since I know how many people are reading, and that the amount of reviews is severely lower. Thanks for reading. Oh, yeah, next chapter…ch-ch-ch-ch-ch…Bailey will return, there will be Mankey, and it's possible that Rival Battle 2 will also fit in the chapter…maybe.

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	10. Source

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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Joanna saw that Mitchell and Charmander had gone rigid, staring up into the trees above them, though she could not see the pack of crazed Mankey staring down. She called to them again, but neither moved. If the pack had already found him, there was nowhere he could run. Joanna looked down at her belt, at the two Poké Balls sitting there. One was a fainted and useless Rattata that she would need to take to the Center, but in the other was a Spearow that had not been harmed by any more than a Tackle attack. Flying beat Fighting, she remembered.

"Spearow, go!" she yelled, and the ball cracked open in midair and let out the brown and black bird Pokémon. It flapped its short wings a few times to figure out where it was and what had happened. It tilted its head to the side to see its new trainer facing another, not too far away.

"Spearow, fly into that treetop and get rid of all the Mankey!"

The first of the Mankey bent its short legs and sprang off of the branch, covered in fresh bark, landing only a few feet from the immobile trainer. Spearow's Peck attack narrowly missed each of the falling Mankeys that followed the first down and onto the dirt. Mitchell saw that they were preparing to charge, and the first one looked absolutely enraged. He could see a visible vein forming in the Pokémon's forehead, bulging and pulsing with its rapid heartbeat. Without thinking, he shut his eyes so that none of the pig-monkeys would think he was challenging them and got low to the ground. Charmander stood firm, ready to fight. As he sat waiting, a sickeningly sweet breeze blew by, making the temperature and humidity rise and slightly tinting the air. The scent filled their surroundings completely, sending Charmander, Spearow, and the distant Bulbasaur into fits of revolted coughing. The Mankey pack was now rushing forward, and Mitchell felt their wiry fur against his arms and shoulders and waited to feel one sitting atop his back, but he opened his eyes and saw that they had run past him. They were rushing down the path that made Route 2, toward the guardhouse visible in the distance. Spearow fell out of the tree and landed on his back, the high-pitched gargling cough drowning out the rapid heavings of Charmander and the deep hacks of Bulbasaur.

"Spearow, Bulbasaur, return!" Joanna shouted, holding her Poké Balls out. Two lights shout out, enveloping the convulsing creatures. Mitchell pulled out Charmander's Poké Ball and called him back as well, standing up and making sure there were no more Mankey around.

"What in the world just happened?" Mitchell asked, but neither of the trainers understood what had just happened. The smell, like strawberry shortcake, hung in the air like a dense fog, nearly visible. Joanna was still trying to comprehend what had happened. The smell, whatever it was, seemed to have calmed the Mankey pack down, but why had they all run off like that? And what was wrong with her two Pokémon? Above all, though, she wanted to find the source of that delicious scent.

"Let's just get out of here. We got what we came here for," Mitchell said. His heart was still working overtime from what he interpreted to be a near-death experience, and he wasn't keen on ever returning to Route 2.

"I think we should get the Pokémon looked at before we leave," Joanna said. They left the route quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when they passed out of the sticky cloud and into clean, fresh air. The town was not far after that, and the red roof of the Pokémon Center drew their eyes. The doors slid open and they walked inside, approaching the desk. A brunette nurse with a ponytail was sitting with one finger twirling around the phone cord, and other holding the receiver to her face.

"Nothing an Antidote won't fix, ma'am. Yes, it should be a few minutes before the poison goes away, but after that he'll be good as new. Thank you for calling the Viridian Pokémon Center. Bye!" she said, hanging up the phone. She looked up at the two visitors, who were already unclipping their Poké Balls and setting them on the counter for her to take.

"Hello there, Jamie," she said, looking directly at Joanna. He looked over at her confusedly and suddenly felt her painful stomp on his foot when she realized he was going to blow her cover. He bit his tongue and looked back at Charmander's ball.

"Hey, Nurse Angela. I don't know if you've met my friend, this is Colin," Joanna told the woman, putting her hand on Mitchell's shoulder as she gave him his fake name. He glanced sidelong at her and nodded to Angela.

"That must've hurt," the nurse commented, taking the five Poké Balls off of the counter and taking them to a table behind her with six slots. The two slots closest to the desk were used for Charmander and Mankey. Bulbasaur, Spearow, and Rattata occupied the ones by the wall. Mitchell put his hand on his bruise again and pressed on it. It still hurt, though less than it had yesterday.

"Do you know what I can do to get rid of it fast? Like a pill?" Mitchell asked. Angela seemed deep in thought for a second before her answer.

"I don't think so. Ice packs will help, but it'll be a couple weeks before it goes completely away. Don't get a needle and try to suck the blood out or something, I know someone who tried that. Didn't end too well," Angela responded, pushing a green button on the healing table. Small, transparent spheres enclosed the Poké Balls and filled with a bluish liquid that gave off a glow. It was then that Mitchell and Joanna noticed the television set hanging from the ceiling in one of the corners of the room. It was tuned in to the local news station, where a reporter that looked very familiar to Mitchell – the same one from the news he had seen at Oak's lab – was sitting alongside the main anchor.

"Yes, Ms. Saxon, and you had a reason for visiting Viridian City, I mean, other than to just see your good friends at Channel 6, didn't you?" the anchor asked, and Veronica nodded.

"That's right, Liz, I've come to inform the city of the two runaways from Pallet Town," she said, turning her face to the camera. Mitchell felt as though she was staring at him through the camera, as if she could see him standing there. Angela was focused on the healing table, luckily, but it only seemed like a matter of time before she looked up.

"Their names are Mitchell Direnetti and Joanna Reese. Last night, Mitchell vanished from his home after his father Edward attacked his wife. According to a witness, Edward also attacked Mitchell, which may have been the reason for his fleeing. Edward shot the witness, who has chosen to remain anonymous, shortly afterward. Amber, the wife and one of the victims, escaped at this time and went to the police department to report what had happened. Ambulances and police cars were dispatched to the Direnetti household in northwest Pallet, but both Edward and Mitchell were nowhere to be found.

"Later on into the night and early morning, the search yielded the body of Edward Direnetti, found sticking through the windshield of a car after crashing into a tree at a high speed. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

"We later received word that the laboratory of esteemed Pokémon researcher Professor Oak had been burglarized. Oak claims that the perpetrator was female, which rules out Mitchell Direnetti as a suspect. However, we also know of one more runaway, Joanna Reese. Reese's father called the police department late into the night and claimed that his daughter had information on the whereabouts of the missing boy. Upon the police's arrival, she too had disappeared without a trace. Mr. Reese believes that the two are traveling together," Saxon finished.

"And you believe that by spreading this story to surrounding towns, you block off their escape routes and eventually bring them to justice?" the anchor asked, and Saxon said yes.

"And," Saxon said, her eyes again locking with Mitchell's through the screen, "here are their most recent photographs,"

"Angela, can I check the score of the game?" the boy asked, scooping the remote up from the edge of the desk and changing the channel just as their photos came up on screen. Channel 8 was sports, and this TV had no Channel 7, so the switch was very quick. A football player was flying through the air with his arms outstretched, the ball just barely falling out of his reach and bouncing off of the ground.

"Smooth one," Joanna whispered to Mitchell, giving off a sigh of relief. Mitchell feigned interest in the game. He wasn't a fan of football, not since his father had grown to like it. That was one of the things that Mitchell changed about himself in order to make him different from his father.

"Bummer. I like Sandlin," Angela said, referencing the player who had just missed the ball. Mitchell counted down the seconds from 30, deciding that they wouldn't have the pictures up for longer than that.

"Yeah, he's a cool guy," Mitchell said. From the TV speakers came a roar of excitement and anger as the cameraman shifted the lens to the seats nearest the field, where a large fight had broken out. Now Mitchell was interested.

"Wow, something worth watching," Angela said, hearing the egg timer-like buzz of the healing table as it finished with the Pokémon. She kept watching the fight, which grew larger with every passing second, while loading the balls back into the plastic bag. She brought them over and set them on the counter next to Joanna, who unglued her eyes from the fight and starting sifting through for hers. She felt Charmander's warmth from his ball and saw the scratches in the paint on Bulbasaur's, but none of the others were very obvious at all.

"Oh, sorry, I meant to keep them separate," Angela said, trying to distinguish for herself what was in each ball. Mitchell took Charmander and let him out, just to check. Joanna did the same with Bulbasaur and her new Rattata. The nurse knew that the ball with the slight wind around it was Spearow, so there was no need for the others to be checked.

"Well, thanks for the help," Mitchell said, putting Charmander back into the ball and clipping it alongside Mankey. Angela smiled and wished them luck on their journey, and they left the Pokémon Center through the sliding doors.

"If we catch up to Eric and Danny, they'll be pretty mad at you," Joanna said, after they had walked a few yards from the red roofed building, "They looked for days and couldn't find a Mankey, you found one after a couple of hours,"

Mitchell smiled and unclipped the ball from his belt as the strawberry scent from earlier came back, though it was much weaker than it had been further down Route 2. He looked down at the ball and pressed the button on the front, wanting to see his first catch, now that it wasn't trying to kill anyone. He dropped the ball and it cracked open, spitting out the reddish light that transformed into the nearly two-foot red-eyed creature. It was sitting on the ground and staring up at its owner when it was fully formed, the menacing look it had had before replaced by one of respect and admiration. Its nose twitched as the strawberry scent went into its snout.

It shrieked its name with an unnatural pitch and stood up, turning to face down Route 2 as if nothing else existed. It launched into the air and grabbed the nearest tree branch and started to swing down the road.

"Mankey, stop!" Mitchell shouted, but the creature could not hear him. Already he was too far away for the Pokéball to be able to recall him, so Mitchell started to run after him, with Joanna following closely behind.

"Bulbasaur, go! Vine Whip it before it gets too far away!" Joanna shouted, throwing the ball up ahead of Mitchell. He pounded by quickly, still calling for the pig-monkey, and Bulbasaur popped out and started to follow. Two green vines snaked out of Bulbasaur's bulb and started to move forward, but his front legs failed him and he slid into the ground face-first, hacking and coughing as he did so.

"What the hell!" Joanna exclaimed, calling the Grass Pokémon back into the ball. It was the smell, she could tell. It got thicker the further they moved, and for some reason Pokémon couldn't breathe in it, none except for Mankey, it seemed. Mitchell was way up ahead of her now, already turning into the field where she had caught Spearow. Joanna could not see Mankey anymore. She wished she had a bike.

"Mankey, get back here right now!" Mitchell shouted again as he left the field, now standing on a brick path that ran for a couple hundred feet before turning to the left. The Fighting Pokémon did not even acknowledge that it had heard him, thinking only of the irresistible smell. He could see more Mankey joining in the chase, swinging through the treetops and headed for the source of the smell, which was getting closer and closer. When his Mankey went deeper into the trees, Mitchell was forced to leave the path and go into the wooded area as well. On his way in, he saw a Rattata on the ground that had been sent into convulsions by the smell. Joanna had caught up and seemed to notice it as well. She stopped and unzipped her backpack, pulling out a small blanket and wrapping it around the Pokémon. She thought perhaps she could block out the smell, but it was everywhere. The Rattata started to thrash even more wildly when it realized that she had grabbed it. It kicked and released itself from the jacket and stumbled away, coughing and wheezing the entire time.

Mitchell came upon a small clearing, where the pack of Mankey from earlier had merged with what seemed like every other wild Mankey in the area. They were all crouched down and digging their snouts into a reddish liquid that filled a small indented area in the center. Immediately the boy knew that this was the source of the smell. His Mankey was in there somewhere, though he could not see which one was his. They inhaled the liquid quickly, the small hole emptying quickly and the Mankey standing up, appeased. Joanna caught up and stopped near Mitchell, both standing and staring at the Mankey swarm. They looked dazed, as if in the early stages of heatstroke. One by one, they fell over backwards, landing and not getting back up.

When the last one collapsed, both Mitchell and Joanna saw Poké Balls being thrown from the shaded area off to the right. They ducked and watched the Mankey as they were captured, every single one of them being encased in the red and white balls and not even fighting back. All of them, that is, except for one. The ball bounced off of Mitchell's Mankey and sat near him, unopened. Joanna took a step forward, but Mitchell held her back.

"Wait," he said. He was beginning to understand what had happened. The smell was some kind of lure for Mankey. It was the rarest of the Pokémon on Route 2, so it made sense that someone would make a substance to attract them. Maybe it was some kind of nectar that attracted Mankey and repelled anything else. It was also an obvious poison, and potent as well. The Mankey had only a few seconds upon drinking it before fainting. A few seconds passed before another Poké Ball flew from the shadows, hitting Mitchell's Mankey again, and landing next to the first, also unopened. They heard the cracking of leaves under boots and watched a figure emerge, clutching another Poké Ball. She was wearing a black spaghetti string tank top with her midriff exposed, revealing a sapphire belly button ring. Her shorts left little to imagination and were tight and beige. She had long blonde hair that was tied back in a ponytail and looked to be around twenty or twenty-one. She approached the Mankey and crouched down, poking it with her Poké Ball.

"Come on now, I'm not losing my five-hundred because you don't want to climb in the ball, little Mankey," the woman said. Mitchell saw a pistol sticking out of the woman's small backpack. Just in case, he pulled his out and stepped forward. Joanna looked at him as if he were crazy. Not only was he carrying a gun, but he had pulled it on a random woman in the middle of the woods.

"Typically," he said, and her head snapped backward, catching his eye, "you weaken a Pokémon before you capture it," The woman stood up slowly, her hands raising into the air in compliance with the gun in her face. She looked genuinely scared, as if Mitchell's face didn't ring a bell in her mind. Joanna stayed crouched in the trees as Mitchell got closer.

"Okay, if you want money, I've got money, if you want Mankey then take your pick, just please don't shoot me, sir," the blonde said respectfully. Mitchell stopped and stared.

"Do you not even recognize me?" he asked confusedly. Her expression changed quickly when she realized who he was, but the fear was still there.

"You're that boy the police are looking for in Pallet Town. Mitchell, right? Okay, if you'll let me go, I'll give you my wallet and the Mankey, just please, don't shoot,"

"That's not what you're supposed to recognize me for," he said, and her expression, that abject terror, turned to a quizzical stare and promptly to an amused smirk.

"Oh, you're the boy from last night," she said. Her hands went down and she took a step forward, but Mitchell waved the gun to make her stop. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry for last night. I was just trying to get a little money. I'm not really like that, I swear, I just needed some bread or something and there's no Pokémon Center in Pallet so I couldn't go there for a meal. I'm really, really sorry for that. But I had to put on the act, you know? Otherwise you probably would've just walked off. My gun wasn't even loaded," she explained. Mitchell looked at her warily, but she sounded honestly sorry about what had happened. And while he wasn't exactly the type to trust someone who waved a gun at him less than 24 hours ago, she had a plausible story. She wasn't the only wandering trainer who suffered temporary poverty in her journey. It happened to all of them.

"Is Pidgey okay?" Mitchell asked, and she nodded. "Good as new,"

"That's good. How did you get all these Mankey here, and why?" Mitchell asked. It was beginning to sound like an interrogation to the girl.

"It's a poison. I don't want to hurt them, and the Center cures it really fast, but it's the easiest way to catch them. It's not perfectly in line with the rules and laws and stuff, but it gets the job done, and in the end the Mankey all get good homes so it's okay," she said, "The poison smells good to the Pokémon it's made for, but the others can't stand it so they run away,"

"Mankey, return," Mitchell said, keeping his gun hand level with her head and using his other to pull his Pokémon out of the crowd of Poké Balls.

"That makes a lot of sense," the blonde muttered.

"I don't trust you," Mitchell told her, basic instinct overpowering the logical progression his mind had just followed..

"I said I'm sorry, okay? You have to understand, I hadn't eaten in three days and neither had Pidgey. We couldn't catch the ferry to Cinnabar because someone stole my money when I got into Pallet Town, some twelve-year-old punk. You were a really easy target, I'm really sorry about it and I wish I could take it back. Can you just put the gun down and we can start over?"

"Your name is Bailey?" Mitchell asked. She looked at him blankly.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You left your gloves with me in the alleyway," he said, pulling them out while keeping the gun trained on Bailey. He tossed them over to her and she looked at them, balling them up like socks and holding them in her hands.

"Let's just start over, and we can just pretend none of that robbery stuff ever happened," Bailey begged. She picked up one of the Mankey and offered it as a truce. Mitchell still didn't completely trust her, but he had never suspected someone of her looks and age to ever be a criminal like she had seemed.

"How do you clean this up?" Mitchell asked. She looked irritated that he seemed like he was completely ignoring her.

"I'll clean it when we're okay," she said. He put the gun down and she extended her hand.

"Okay, fine. Call me Mitch," he said, gripping her hand. She smiled sinisterly and he knew he had made a huge mistake. In one fleeting movement, she twisted his arm around and up behind him, driving her elbow into the small of his back and knocking him face-first onto the ground.

"Sorry for this handsome, but you don't just go waving a gun in my face," she said.

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Author Notes: Well, took me a while to get that one up, didn't it? Sorry about that, I'm in between my RP, this story, Dead Rising, and planning a Star Fox fanfic that I plan to post here at . In the next chapter, Rival Battle 2 will happen and…hmm…well, my planning is all thrown off because I decided to change some stuff for this chapter, but the next one will probably end at the guardhouse before the Viridian Forest. R&R, people, I now accept anonymous reviews for those of you too lazy to login or those who don't have accounts.

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	11. First Time

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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Mitchell's face dug into the soaked soil, the overpowering scent of Bailey's poison filling his nostrils and making him cough. He lifted his head off of the ground and felt his pistol wrenched from his hand, and then heard Bailey eject the magazine, which fell to the ground nearby. She tossed the gun to the side and held his arms down with hers, keeping him on the ground. Her ponytail had come a little bit loose and now some of her hair was hanging down in front of her face, something she never liked. Gravity willed it, though, and it wasn't the main part of her focus anyway.

"Lying bitch," Mitchell spat at her, struggling against her vice grip to get free. She was surprisingly strong for someone her size. Bailey kept holding him down. She hadn't thought this through and wasn't sure exactly what to do next. Knock him out? She could, but if she let go he would likely throw her off.

"You don't get rich being honest, kid," she said, exercising her seniority over him, though she was only so by a couple of years. He exhaled deeply and stopped moving, realizing he was only tiring himself.

"Can we just forget this happened and go our separate ways?" Mitchell asked, and Bailey laughed at him.

"Wow, you're quick to switch onto the other side of the deal, aren't you? You're not going anywhere," she said, something suddenly clicking in her mind, "Nowhere, except the police station,"

Mitchell started to struggle again, but she dug one of her knees into his back and he yelped, stopping all movement. Joanna sat in the shade, waiting for Bailey's vision to turn completely away.

"Clean this shit up, Bailey, now," Mitchell said, trying not to breathe in the smell. From afar, it was a delicious scent, but he could not stand it up close. She frowned.

"What difference does it make? It'll go next time it rains. It's not like there's many Pokémon worth anything here, so if a trainer happens to come by and can't find anything, well, ain't missing much are they?"

"Clean it up, bitch. You're hurting a lot of Pokémon with it," he said.

"And what, are you some kind of Pokémon fanatic overnight? Why should you care anyway, they aren't yours!"

She saw something move in the trees to the side and turned to look, when Mitchell slid one arm out from under her grip and knocked her to the side. She landed by the empty gun, her fingers reaching for the magazine a few feet away. Mitchell rolled over to it and grabbed it first. Now Bailey's back was to the place she had seen the movement, and she reached for the gun in her backpack, racking the slide and aiming at the boy with one fluid movement-

A blur of auburn and blonde replaced the area Bailey had been crouching as Joanna flew from the shadows and landed on the woman's back. The two tumbled for a foot or so as they began to claw at each other with their nails, pulling hair and screaming incoherently. The gun slid out of the battle and Joanna pinned Bailey to the ground in a similar position to how Bailey had pinned Mitchell. Bailey kicked her legs, trying to hit her assailant, but she had been defeated.

"Forgot you had someone with you, Direnetti," Bailey said, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. She had scratches on her cheek and arms, as did Joanna. They were covered in the sticky, syrupy topsoil and smelled like it from head to toe.

"Took you long enough," Mitchell commented, kneeling down in front of Bailey. He had a plan to end this all without gunshots and bloodshed.

"Okay, now that we're all calmed down," he said, and Bailey sneered at him, "let's discuss a civil way to end this,"

Joanna started to talk as well.

"Yeah. Clean this up and stop poisoning the Pokémon, and we'll let you go," she said, but Mitchell's plan had been much more precise.

"I'm not leaving without a fight, if that's what you're implying," the blonde said. Mitchell's idea now seemed obvious to all three of them.

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen. Joanna is going to let you go. You're going to stand up slowly, and you're going to clean this up. That way, we can have a quick Pokémon battle to determine who leaves here, and if you win-"

"Bullshit, you won last night, you'll win again today," Bailey spat. Mitchell had already thought of this, but he was hoping that she wouldn't think of it as well.

"If you win, you can stay here, poison whatever you want, take it all, who cares? But if I win-"

"I just told you I'm not going to fight you," Bailey said, struggling again against Joanna.

"Okay, fine. If Joanna wins-"

"What?" the girl asked at the mention of her name. She had never been in a Pokémon battle before, and now she was being volunteered for one? Mitchell looked up and gave her a look of encouragement, then continued his terms.

"If Joanna wins, you leave. Plain and simple,"

The blonde looked up at the younger girl and smirked.

"Big challenge there," she said. Joanna dug her fingernails into Bailey's wrists for a second, until Mitchell told her to get off of her. The blonde brushed the sticky soil from her shirt and pants and pulled her Poké Balls out of her pack. There were two, both looking as though they had just been bought. One had a sort of misty layer on the surface, like condensation on the outside of a cold water bottle, which told Mitchell that whatever was inside was a Water Pokémon. She hadn't had that one the night before, had she? But where had she gotten it? She wasn't carrying a fishing pole, so unless it was a gift…

_Someone broke into Oak's lab last night._

Mitchell stared at the Poké Ball. When he had gotten there, Professor Oak had given him a choice between Charmander and Squirtle. Squirtle was a Water type. The teenager stared at the ball as Bailey put them in an easy order for battle. He would wait, he decided. If she let him out and it was a Squirtle, he would know for sure. After the balls were stuck to her belt in the correct battle order, she reached into her pack for a small vial of greenish liquid. It was about as long as a standard number two pencil, and about as wide as a quarter. She pulled the lid off and dumped the contents on the ground. The smell faded quickly afterward.

"I don't know Spearow's moves, Mitchell, how am I supposed to fight with him?" Joanna whispered to Mitchell, her back to Bailey. The blonde watched like an eagle, as if expecting the boy to hand over his Charmander for her to fight with. She gave the boy a menacing gaze, as if to tell him not to try anything stupid, and stood waiting.

"She has a Pidgey and a Water type," Mitchell said. Joanna nodded.

"Use Spearow on Pidgey and Bulbasaur on her Water type," Joanna said, and Mitchell nodded.

"When you turn around, I'm going to slip my Pokédex into your pocket as quickly as I can without her noticing. Open it up and point at Spearow when he comes out for his moves. You'll be fine, she's nothing. I beat her on my first try with Charmander," he said. Bailey was tapping her foot.

"Turn around on three. One, two, three!"

Joanna turned and Mitchell pulled his Pokédex out, looking down at its width and the width of Joanna's pocket. It wouldn't fit. She was standing there, waiting for him to do it before she would walk forward, and it was starting to feel like it had been too long. Thinking of no other place to put it, Mitchell pulled on the back belt loop of the girl's shorts and slid the Pokédex into them. To eliminate Bailey's suspicion as to what he was doing, he slapped Joanna's ass, much to her shock.

"Get it, girl!" he said, walking off to the side of the clearing that would house the battle. Joanna stepped forward and pulled out Spearow's Poké Ball, pressing the button on the front to make it grow.

"We haven't defined the rules yet," Bailey said, "Two on two. No potions. No advice from the sidelines," she said, glancing at Mitchell, who let out Charmander so that he could watch the ensuing battle. He didn't like it, but it seemed like he was going to need to go to the Pokémon Center again and get Mankey healed. Otherwise, he would let his newest addition to the team watch as well. Charmander sat down on a log, next to Mitchell.

"Fine by me," Joanna said, sounding suddenly confident. Both of the girls tossed their Poké Balls into the air, the Flying types cawing as they examined their surroundings and their enemies. Now it was obvious that the Pidgey was indeed darker than normal, his chocolate feathers flapping to keep it at a consistent distance from the ground. Spearow was flapping much more quickly due to its shorter wings, but it maintained a similar distance from the ground. Joanna pulled out Mitchell's Pokédex and aimed it up high, the image of Spearow appearing on the screen. She pressed a few buttons and arrived at the attack screen.

"Spearow, use Fury Attack!" Joanna shouted.

"Quick Attack, Pidgey!" Bailey yelled, and Pidgey shot forward like a rocket, rolling as it did so. Spearow did a backwards loop in the air and flew in with its beak ready to attack. The chocolate colored bird slammed into Spearow and knocked it to the ground.

"Guess you better pack your bags now, kid," Bailey taunted, but Spearow wasn't done just yet. It kicked off of the ground and flapped its wings, launching up into the air, coming in for the Fury Attack. It hit Pidgey in the stomach first, then did a backflip and rammed the opponent again, and a third time. By then, it was dizzy. It kept afloat, but barely.

"Pidgey, he's dizzy! Gust!" Bailey commanded, and the bird spun around with its wings, creating the vortex that Charmander had fallen victim to the night before. Spearow was sucked in and closed its eyes, knowing that if it could see the swirling outside, the dizziness would increase.

"Sand-Attack, same thing you did last night. We'll sandstorm it to death," Bailey said, now calm. She knew that this battle was hers. Pidgey flew down to the bottom of the tornado and began to flap its wings to kick dirt into the tornado. It looked down at the ground, frustrated when it realized that the attack was not working.

_Ground's still wet…_Bailey thought irritably. Everyone watched Spearow spinning helplessly in the tornado until it died down and the bird dropped, landing awkwardly on its back. A red light engulfed it as it was sucked back into its Poké Ball, and Joanna looked at Pidgey determinedly. She had to make a choice between her Rattata and Bulbasaur. One had a severe type disadvantage, while the other was new and very likely inexperienced. Rattata also had no attacks that could reach the bird. She reached for Bulbasaur and threw him out into the field, the frog-like creature emerging and looking up at Pidgey.

"Looks like I already won," Bailey said. Joanna clenched her fists.

"Grab him and slam him into some trees, will ya?" Joanna asked the Pokémon. Two vines shot out of his bulb and rushed for the bird, wrapping around its wings. Bailey clenched her teeth and called out to Pidgey.

"Break them off, don't just let it take you like that!"

Pidgey started to peck at the vines holding its wings, but its head could not reach. Bulbasaur wrenched it to the right and slid it against the ground near Mitchell and Charmander, then yanked it back into the air. The vines carried it through trees branches and against the ground several times until it finally scratched itself free with its talons.

"Vine Whip!" Joanna ordered, and the vines retracted from the bird. They cracked against Pidgey's feathers loudly, leaving nearly visible marks on its hidden skin. It fell to the ground and stumbled to its feet, taking a defiant stance before falling forward. It was done.

"This fight is bullshit!" Bailey yelled at Mitchell, who shrugged and reminded her that she had agreed to it, even if the agreement was nonverbal. Bulbasaur awaited its next opponent and Bailey sneered at the Grass type, grabbing the last of her conscious Pokémon and tossing the ball, wiping the condensation off on her shorts. The red light formed exactly what Mitchell suspected, a Squirtle. Charmander stood up and called to the turtle, which was engaged in a staring war with Bulbasaur.

_"Well, it's been a while, hasn't it?" Bulbasaur said to Squirtle, though the noises coming from his mouth were nothing but grunts to the humans present. Squirtle crossed his arms and looked over at Charmander, who was waving._

"_Yeah, months since I've seen either of you. Been cooped up in that ball forever, and I've almost forgotten what it's like to be outside. How've things been for you two?" Squirtle asked._

"_I've been a house pet for way too long. It's about time my human brought me out here," Bulbasaur responded. Charmander wanted to go shake hands with Squirtle, but he was not allowed to interfere._

"_I've been battling like crazy, but mostly for protection. This guy next to me is my new trainer. He's cool, but your trainer is mean. I fought her yesterday. I kinda feel sorry for you," Charmander said, "but only a little bit," Squirtle gritted his teeth. He had never really liked Charmander all that much, but they shared a grudgingly respectful relationship with one another._

"Tackle, Squirtle! Follow up with Tail Whip!" Bailey shouted, and the turtle nodded.

_"Sorry to cut short this little meeting," the turtle said._

Squirtle crouched down on all fours and sprang forward, kicking up muddy soil as he made his way toward the waiting Grass type.

"Vine Whip again!" Joanna called out, and the two vines that had disabled Pidgey rose out of the bulb and struck the turtle twice: once on the face, and the second time on its protective shell. It spun out of control and landed on its back, pulling itself inside its shell and popping back up onto its feet.

"I didn't say stop!" Bailey roared, and Squirtle leaned into a run again, Bulbasaur not budging from his spot. His vines were still whipping around in the air at nothing in particular. The turtle's tail slammed across his face like a roundhouse kick, pushing him back slightly. Bulbasaur growled.

"Just keep Vine Whipping, it's the fastest way," Joanna told her Pokémon. Bailey again called for a Tackle. Squirtle came in close, but was pushed away violently by the green tendrils. Bailey wouldn't give in. Large red lacerations started appearing on Squirtle's wet skin as Bulbasaur repeatedly struck the same areas, until the turtle could finally go no more. He took a step forward and fell in the mud, letting out a gasp. Bailey looked down at him.

"Get up, we're not done yet!" Bailey told Squirtle, but he couldn't move. He hurt all over. He shut his eyes and did not open them again.

"Get up, dammit!" the blonde called out. Joanna called Bulbasaur back into his Poké Ball.

"Oh, no, bring him back out, this isn't over!" Bailey screamed furiously, but Joanna would not.

"It's over, Bailey," the auburn-haired girl said, holding in her excitement at having won her first battle. The blonde looked at her viciously, finally recalling the beaten Pokémon.

"Fine," she said after a long bout of silence. Both of the girls relaxed a bit, though it was obvious by the whitening of her knuckles that Bailey wanted nothing more than to pound Joanna into a bloody pulp, to leave her broken and bruised in the middle of these woods, where she would likely not be found for a very long time.

"The only reason I'm letting you live," she said, "is because I am an honorable woman. I will leave here quietly, but these Mankey here are mine. And I will not promise not to do this somewhere else. Next time I'll make sure I'm out of your way. But I'd advise you to get the hell out of this city very very quickly, or you might find that the police force is suddenly aware that the two runaways are in the city,"

"Fine. Let's go," Joanna said, and Mitchell turned to follow her. They walked through the trees and out onto the brick path, where they both picked up the pace to a light jog.

"Congratulations on your first win," Mitchell said, Charmander following closely. Joanna smiled as they neared the town

"It was easy. But I don't feel right about her. She's going to work those Pokémon to death, I can feel it. Especially that poor Squirtle,"

Mitchell slowed down for a split-second, remembering that the Squirtle had been taken. But why, of all the things she could have taken from the lab, had she taken Squirtle? Because she had lost? Because she needed a type advantage over Mitchell, should they ever meet again? He wanted to call and let Oak know, but he didn't have the time for that, not just yet. If Bailey had been serious, then she would be coming up behind them soon, and she would alert the police. Next on their path was Viridian Forest, and then after that, their first Gym Battle in Pewter City.

"We can't afford a night here, so we'll probably be in the forest at dark. We should hurry,"

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Author Notes: So, I totally just got moderated on GameFAQs Super Smash Bros. Brawl forums for disruptive posting. It was quite funny, for some reason everyone was posting "We didn't listen!" in new topics. I was called out for "not being able to do it", so apparently there was a pattern. Then I got notified that I was modded for a couple of them, but no Karma loss. Score. Anyway, you may have noticed that I have a Star Fox fanfic up now. I will be alternating between updates to both stories, though I may have times where Insurrection is updated twice before this one is updated. This will either be due to a large event occurring in Insurrection that I really want to write, or the fact that this story has chapters that are about 2 pages longer than the standard for Insurrection. Read and review, as always.

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	12. Sharp Points

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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Already, they were tired. They had been walking for hours, and it seemed that the Pokémon in Viridian Forest had all vanished. The forest floor was soggy and caked their shoes with mud, as though it had recently rained. Little sunlight reached the floor, and with the sun drifting closer and closer to the horizon, the visibility was dropping. They could make out shapes and basic colors, and the light from Charmander's tail helped them avoid tripping and falling into the muck. They were just over three-fourths of the way through, and could care less if they came across any Pokémon, as long as they got to the guardhouse before sunset.

Joanna released a gasp and Mitchell turned quickly on his heel, catching her falling weight. Her knee splashed into the mud and she shot back up, look back at the spot in the path that she tripped over. It was just as muddy as any other spot, with no visible rock or branch for her to have caught her foot on. A line had been cut across the path, though, something that had not been there when they passed it. Bulbasaur started to growl, the low rumble building in his throat. Charmander sensed it too, but neither of the humans could see.

"Thanks," Joanna said to Mitchell before resuming her careful walk. She could tell that something was there, just off the path, something in the trees. The fact that it had gone by them undetected bothered her. Both of their starters were glancing uneasily off to the sides as they walked, and no one spoke. The sounds of the forest were all around them; the running of water in a nearby stream, the sounds of bugs, the occasional flutter of wings overhead, the rolling of thunder from a storm on Mt. Silver, visible to the west when the trees parted enough for them to see through the canopy.

"Shh, shh, hey, hey," Mitchell said quietly, putting his arm out to stop Joanna, in case she hadn't heard his whispering. She ran into it and stopped, looking up at Mitchell. His eyes were fixed on something in the path, a low-lying figure that looked segmented. It was too large to be a normal bug, yet still small. The segmented body looked a yellow color, and on what they could only assume to be his head was a horn.

"Called it," Mitchell said, reaching for an empty Poké Ball and stepping forward. His foot came up out of the mud with a wet sucking noise, and the shape in the path stopped moving. Its head lifted off of the ground and it looked down the path suspiciously, seeing the bright orange flame on Charmander's tail.

"Ember!" Mitchell yelled, and the bug squealed and started to push away, but the mud was too thick. The bounding red lizard came closer to the smaller creature as it made a desperate attempt to escape, but it could do nothing. The lizard was now on top of it, and a bright jet of flame shot out of its mouth. The flames spread on Weedle's back and he cried out in pain, rolling onto his back. The cool mud touched the flames, and they went out. Charmander jumped backward, ready for his next command.

"Tail Whip!" Mitchell called out, and Charmander swung his tail into the delicate underbelly of the Bug type, the fleshy exterior blistering and cracking. Weedle rolled over to cool the burn with the mud all around, but Charmander whipped it again, sending it flying into the air. It landed not far from Mitchell, who pressed the button on the empty Poké Ball to prepare it to capture the Pokémon.

As Mitchell retracted his arm, Weedle sprang up out of the mud, the point on its head gleaming as it passed through the small patches of sunlight. The teenager let out a yelp as the barb buried itself within his thigh, tearing through his jeans. Weedle yanked it out and began to crawl away, but before it could get far, it felt a light thump on its head. Everything went red, then black. The bug could not move. It had been captured.

"Gah…" Mitchell rasped, one of his hands pressed down hard on the new hole, warm blood spreading onto the leg of his jeans and leaking through his fingers. The wet stickiness of his life's water just made kneeling ankle deep in thick mud all the more uncomfortable. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he felt a headache building up in the depths of his frontal lobe, bright pulsing objects flooding his vision. He could not tell which direction the floor was now, and ended up lying on his side in the muck. Joanna knelt down, reaching into her bag for something.

"I think you're poisoned," she said, stating the obvious. Mitchell moaned and pushed himself onto his feet, his body unstable and legs shaking wildly. He leaned against a tree and waited for the world to stop spinning.

"I have an Antidote, roll up your sleeve," Joanna said, retrieving a needle from her bag, filled with blue liquid. At the sight of the needle, Mitchell's senses came back 110%, and he started backing away, with one arm extended to keep Joanna away.

"Whoa, no, no, no, let's talk about this," he said to her. She crossed her arms.

"Afraid of needles?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No, no, not afraid,"

"So roll up your sleeve,"

"No,"

"I'm not carrying you when you faint from this,"

"That's fine, I'm not poisoned,"

As he said that, he felt bile rising in his esophagus, but choked it back down. Joanna eyed him, knowing he was lying.

"It's just one little pinch. You went through worse yesterday,"

"Being hit in the face with a book is different than having a sharp piece of metal forced into a vein, I'm fine. Let's keep moving,"

He started to walk and she shrugged, putting the needle back into her bag and slinging it. She grimaced when she realized that her socks were now soaked with mud and water, and desperately wanted a shower. She could imagine what they would feel like when they had dried: old, dirty, crusty, and disgusting. She refused to spend the night in this forest.

"Look," Mitchell said, pointing down at the place where Weedle had been sitting before it had been attacked. There was a line cut across the mud, not unlike the one they had seen before.

"Well, that totally took all the mystery out of this forest," Jo commented, continuing forward into the darkness. Mitchell followed closely and quietly, almost able to feel the poison running through his blood, messing with his heart rate, his thoughts, his actions. He was beginning to move sluggishly, and Joanna had to have noticed. She changed her walking speed four times to make sure Mitchell could keep up, but Bulbasaur and Charmander pressed onward as quickly as they had been before, scouting out the path ahead. With Weedle no longer stalking them from the sidelines, everything seemed peaceful. Occasionally they passed a hive tree, with Kakuna and Metapod hanging from the branches, suspended by a sticky web-like material. Neither Mitchell nor Joanna were interested.

"This place sucks. We better not have to deal with anymore forests once we get outta here," Joanna said to Mitchell, and he mumbled in agreement. She started to think it would be a good idea to lag a bit behind Mitchell, to catch him at a weak moment and inject him with Antidote. She could tell that he was watching her, though, waiting for her to reach into her bag and pull out that shiny pointed object.

_He couldn't do anything about it if I did, _she thought, smiling. Control always made her smile, though she tried not to take leadership if she could help it.

Ducking under a tree branch, she felt a sticky glob of some foreign material splash onto her face forcefully, covering her eyes. She cried out and stepped back, nearly falling into Mitchell. The sticky mess solidified and formed webbing, and she tried to claw it away and landed on the muddy ground. Bulbasaur and Charmander started to circle the humans, facing outward, watching the forests for movement. Something was still out there, and the Pokémon could hear it scurrying throughout the branches around them.

"_Where are you?" _Bulbasaur barked into the shadows, and he heard a giddy response.

"_Up,"_

Charmander and Bulbasaur both looked up in time to see a fleeting shape hop between the treetops, with agility neither of them could keep up with. It spiraled around another branch, gripping the trunk of a tree and sliding into the mud.

Joanna knelt down and soaked her hands in the mud after tearing the glob off of her face, though she could feel the remnants sticking to her eyebrows and the inside of her nose. She blew air out through her nostrils to try and dislodge the goop, but it was set. She glared at her surroundings, looking for whatever was responsible. Bulbasaur and Charmander could see it moving, but Joanna's eyes could not distinguish the shape hiding in the mud nearby.

"Fun game. Scares humans," the squeaky voice called out to Bulbasaur and Charmander, and both glanced sidelong at the other. The shape had disappeared into the mud, but reappeared on the other side of the path, skirting the treeline and kicking up mucky water. A glob of webbing hit Bulbasaur on the side and it bucked, trying to get the irritating material off of its skin. It rolled in the mud as Charmander kept an eye on the moving shape in the darkness.

"Play game. Fun game. Scare humans. Great fun," the voice called, and Charmander started to form a fireball in his mouth.

"_Fire no fun. I play with humans. Play with me_?" it said, and it shot onto the muddy path, its green flesh now visible to all. It started to shoot more webbing out of a tiny hole on its face, what could have been its mouth.

"Called it!" Joanna shouted, and Mitchell waved for her to go ahead.

"Vine Whip!" she called out, and Bulbasaur popped out of the mud, his side now free of webbing. The green bug sat up on its tail and kept spraying the webbing, trying to entomb Charmander in a silk cocoon. Bulbasaur's vines cracked as they made contact with the Caterpie's tender body, knocking it to the side.

_"No fun! Play game, no fight!"_ it screamed, but Bulbasaur did not listen.

"Tackle!" Joanna commanded, and Bulbasaur lunged at the Caterpie, already reeling from the vines. It felt the hard skull of the Grass Pokémon collide with the pink antennae on its head, bending it backward painfully and causing the bug to sink completely into the mud.

"Bring him up, I need a clear shot!" Joanna said, and Bulbasaur stuck a vine under the surface of the mud, wrapping it around the weakened shape and pulling it out. A red and white ball flew through the air and landed on Caterpie's head. It was sucked inside and didn't bother struggling.

"Bravo," Mitchell clapped weakly, and Joanna flipped her hair jokingly. Bulbasaur brought her the Poké Ball and she clipped it on with the others.

"The guardhouse is right there," Mitchell said, pointing down the path at a single yellow light burning in the distance. It was like a beacon of hope for both of them. Joanna hoped that they had a bathtub or a shower, but all Mitchell wanted was a bed. Looking at himself, he was sure that the workers would object to him, as they wouldn't want him to muddy up their cots. But he was too tired for a shower. Such a conundrum. He could always just ignore what the guards said.

"Move faster," Joanna called to him, and he realized he had drifted into a world of his own thoughts for a few seconds. His companions were already a hundred feet ahead of him, though they probably had a few hundred yards left before they would reach the building. The poison was starting to wear off, he thought, and he could feel his vitality bubbling back up inside of him. His pace increased to normal and he caught up with Joanna, confident that he had beaten it.

He doubled over and vomited in the middle of the path, and all of his symptoms screamed themselves back into existence at one time. Joanna sighed and shook her head, walking around the puddle of bile and Mitchell's most recent meal, the unappealing mess of neutral color, and slid her arm up under his, supporting him with her shoulder. Moments later, they were stumbling up the guardhouse's steps.

The door opened slowly inward and the three boys within the large rectangular building gazed out into the darkness. One reached for a Poké Ball, as if expecting something large and threatening to step in through the portal. Instead came the four figures, two human and two not.

"Hey, it's those two again!" one of the boys at the other end of the guardhouse told his companion, a blue-eyed youth dressed in a shirt, boxers, and socks. The speaker had on a baseball cap with a Saffron City logo stitched onto the front, covering up a head of shaggy blonde hair that otherwise ran wild. The two dirty teenagers shut the door, one of them hunched over and clutching his stomach tightly. The other guardhouse occupant, the one who had gone for his Poké Ball as soon as the door opened, reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe, standing up and approaching the hurt boy. The female shook her head and held out a hand to stop him.

"No needles," she said, and the hurt boy gave her a thumbs-up. The auburn-haired girl looked over at the two boys at the other end of the building.

"Hey, look, it's Danny and Eric," she told her partner, who looked up, his face drooping with weakness.

"How's it going, boys?" Mitchell asked, and his stomach groaned loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. He darted for a trash can near the door and stuck his head inside, ejecting the fresh contents of his digestive system into the bottom of the bag.

"That sounds juicy," Eric commented, and a unanimous "Eww" followed, filling the chamber. The sick boy stood up, wiping the remnants of the burning liquid from his mouth and nose. He felt better now.

"See? Didn't even need an Antidote," he said to Joanna, who covered her nose quickly when his breath reached it.

"Please go brush your teeth," she said, and he obeyed, entering the men's bathroom on one side of the building. The door shut slowly behind him.

"Any luck with the Mankey?" Eric asked. Joanna bit her lip. Would he be angry if she said yes?

"Yeah, a little,"

"Dammit! I knew I should've stayed longer,"

"Long story about the Mankey. It can wait for another day. I feel really gross," she said, unslinging her backpack and tossing it over to an empty bed. Bulbasaur and Charmander were already comfortable on the floor of the guardhouse. They were stretched out and relaxing finally, no longer hunted by rogue Caterpie.

"Looks like we're spending the night here," Joanna said to the Pokémon, "We don't want to be out in the dark without a tent,"

"Good plan," Danny commented.

Joanna pulled out a pair of pajamas and disappeared through the women's bathroom door. Shortly afterward, the three boys in the main room heard the squeaking of shower controls and the escaping of water through a showerhead.

"She's pretty," Danny said, and Eric nodded. The older boy on the other side of the room, sitting up in his bed, chuckled.

"Younger every day, aren't they?" he said to himself, grabbing a newspaper nearby and opening to an article about the Rocket Organization.

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Author Notes: Long time no see, eh? Well, you know, life catches up to people sometimes. And by life, I mean school. Sorry if this one seems a little rushed toward the end, that part was written on a Sunday morning before church, so I was very likely tired. This is also the shortest chapter, I think, but they won't stay that way. I promise. I'm not sure if I'll be updating this next or Insurrection, but they'll both be updated soon. In the next chapter *checks notes* we get a glimpse of an event happening further down the road, a bit of Pewter City, and maybe some law stuff (I gotta go and check how much time has passed. Oak gave Mitch 3 days, and I think the first day in Pewter will be the third day, so the second day in Pewter will be when the long arm of the law catches up. Chapter 14, maybe.)

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	13. Career Opportunities

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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.

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"Say something, damn you!" the black-clad man shouted, shoving the young boy and knocking him to the ground, the wooden slats that made up the Nugget Bridge. He felt a splinter bury itself in his palm and grimaced, pushing himself back up. One of the fibers on his black bracelet had broken, and he looked at it as if it had been one of the most offensive things he had ever seen. It was a bracelet made from a Pokémon's hair, though he wasn't sure of the species. He opened his brown eyes widely and stood up, the dimness of the night around him starting to bug him. It made the attacker hard to see, everything but the bright red R on his chest.

A girl wearing a sun hat came up from behind him and helped him to his feet, glaring at the man who had pushed the fifteen-year-old.

"Leave him alone!" she shouted, her voice high but the command behind it dignified, assertive. The man smiled evilly and backhanded her across the face. She stumbled and fell into the arms of her companion, who set her back on her feet and stepped forward, his emotionless eyes locked with the enemy's. He stretched his hand out, opening his fingers and revealing a small Poké Ball. He tapped the button on the front with his index finger and the ball grew.

"Cute," the man smirked, his hand finding his own Poké Ball. His thoughts turned to his immediate future, the chain of events that was about to occur. They would back away from each other slowly, setting the distance of their battlefield. The boy would throw his Pokémon out, where he would bark commands futilely – or would he, he wasn't a talkative boy – until the Rocket had him begging for mercy. Maybe the girl would cry a little, and the Rocket would laugh. He would take the boy's hat and throw it to the ground, and he'd stomp it into the dirt. He would take their money; he would take their Pokémon. If they resisted, he would take their lives. He would take it all back to headquarters, and he would get paid. He'd spend the money on cheap booze and hookers in Celadon City, and he'd come right back to the Nugget Bridge to do it all over again.

"Oh, boy, you don't know what you're messing with. Do you honestly think you can beat a Rocket?" the shady man asked. The girl in the hat rubbed her cheek, looking almost angry.

"He destroyed your group at Mt. Moon, he won't have any problem with you!" she remembered. The man in black cocked his head slightly. He had heard about that. A fifteen-year-old had driven the Rockets from their fossil operations at Moon. They didn't know his name, but they knew that he had a brownish-blond hair color, and wore red and black. This boy fit the description perfectly.

"That group was incompetent, made of our amateur recruits. What use does the Rocket Organization have for fossils, honestly? Do you really believe that we'd send our good officers to a mountain to dig for fossils? What kind of group do you think we are? No, no, you haven't seen our wrath yet, haven't tasted the poison. It looks as though you're about to face the serpent, though. Have at you!"

The boy stepped back and tossed his Poké Ball, as did the Rocket. Lights shot forth from the small devices and quickly assumed the forms of their inhabitants, toughened creatures hungry for a fight.

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Joanna stepped into the main chamber of the guardhouse shortly after eight o'clock, with a towel wrapped around her wet hair and a pile of dirty clothes in his arms. Danny, Eric, and the third boy were sitting around one of the circular dining tables, each with four cards in their hands. Two spoons sat in the center of the table. Danny had the deck of cards sitting to his right, and he picked one up, glanced at it. Joanna caught a glimpse of the card – the eight of hearts – as he lowered it and passed it on to his left, to Eric. Eric kept the eight and sent something else to the third boy, who took that card and placed it in the messy pile to his left.

"What are you guys playing?" she asked, and the three all gave hasty, frantic responses.

"Spoons," they said.

"Can I play?" she asked, and Eric switched out another card that he received from Danny. He swiftly dove for a spoon in the middle of the table and grabbed one. The two remaining boys launched from their chairs and grabbed for the other spoon, with the older coming out as the victor.

"Joanna's here, new game," Danny said, his defeat showing in his voice. Had they continued playing, he would be omitted from the next round, but the presence of a new player made necessary a restart in Danny's eyes. She pulled up a chair from another table and positioned herself between Danny and Eric.

"Do you know how to play?" the boy across the table asked, and she shook her head. He stacked the card pile next to him and passed it over to Eric, who would be dealing this round. Joanna only knew Go Fish and some archaic form of Poker that her dad taught her when she was six. This one looked fun, though, and she had nothing better to do. She was wearing only a long shirt and a short pair of shorts, and she could tell that the oldest boy at the table had taken notice.

"I'm Jo," she said, reaching across the table to shake his hand. He did the same. Big hands, a powerful grip, she noted mentally. His hair was messy but cute, light brown in color and a little greasy from the day's travels. He had a charming smile and deep hazel eyes, and a bit of stubble forming the beginnings of a full beard.

"Matt," he said, sitting down. Joanna looked over at Charmander and Bulbasaur, both asleep next to Mitchell's bed. Where was Mitchell?

"Is Mitchell still in the bathroom?" she asked, and Matt nodded.

"Yeah, still in there. Maybe we should go check on him or something,"

"I got it. There's no other guys in there, is there?"

"Nope, we're all out here,"

Joanna stood up and walked over to the bathroom door as Eric dealt out the four cards that each person started with. He left some over by Joanna's seat in case she came back in time for the start of the new round, which he got the sense that she wouldn't. Matt eyed her as she walked away.

"Mitch?" she asked from outside the door, opening it up a crack to let her voice in. She didn't hear anything happening inside. She knocked on the door loudly, and gave in to the creeping paranoia that was building in her mind. He was still poisoned. She should've forced the Antidote on him, she knew.

"I'm coming in, Mitch," she said, and pushed the door open. She stepped into the clean, blue room and saw a pair of legs sticking out from under one of the stall doors. The pants were dirty with mud.

"You okay?" she asked, and she received no response. Jo took a second to realize how foreign this room seemed to her. She had never seen what a urinal looked like in her life, and it was entirely unremarkable. Other than that strange piece of men's bathroom architecture, the room looked like a mirror of the women's room, with half as many stalls and benches in the middle of the room. She couldn't think of a reason for the benches, other than the obvious one.

"Mitch?" she said, pulling open the door and finding him passed out with his face resting on a toilet seat. The water in the bowl was still clean, so he hadn't vomited in there. She left the room and crossed to her bed, grabbing her bag and reaching inside for her Antidote.

"Is he alright?" Matt asked, caring even though he had only just met the group. Joanna shrugged and made her way back into the bathroom. Mitch was in the exact same position as he had been. Joanna pulled up his sleeve and stuck the needle in, pressing down on the plunger and shooting the medicine into her companion's bloodstream. He coughed and looked like he was going to wake up, but he did not. Joanna tossed the used syringe into a nearby trashcan and contemplated moving Mitch onto a bed, but decided not to. She returned to the card table and sat down, realizing as the cards passed by her quickly that she had no idea what was going on. Like the others, she frantically grabbed for the stack of cards that was passing by, examining her own four cards, and seeing no pattern, passing them along. When Danny would grab one, she would too.

"Slow down, what the hell are the rules?"

Everyone except for her dove for the spoons in the center of the table, each coming out with one and waving it, vocalizing their victories.

"What the crap!"

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A strobe light flashed in the corner of the dance floor, at the other end of DragoNights, a 21-and-older establishment on the north side of town, between the treeline of the dense forest and the Pokémon Gym, which had been closed for quite some time for an unknown reason. The townspeople had their theories, of course – a death in the leader's family, a need to travel, a search for oneself – but none had substance. One day, it just closed, and that was that.

Sitting at the bar on a shoddily built redwood stool was a man in his early thirties, dressed in a navy pinstripe suit with the coat unbuttoned and the tie loosened. On his left ring finger was a large gold band that seemed a severely tight fit. He had noticeable irritation around the knuckle. For him, it looked like it had been a long day, and he had an empty glass sitting in front of him. When the bartender returned to ask if he wanted more, he asked for a bottle. It had been a really, really long day. The loud music was muted in his ears, as was most of the world. It was just him and his alcohol, and the temporary happiness he found sitting at the bottom, with the promise of a rude awakening the next morning. He slid a bill across to the bartender, who thanked him for the generous tip and continued to serve. She was a worker, the man had always noticed. And not married. And attractive, damn, was she attractive. She was a dark beauty with blonde highlights streaking through her hair. This wasn't the first time today that she had been the object of his lustful fantasies.

"Hey, Deirdre," he called down to her, and she walked over to him, leaning over the counter to speak, her low-cut shirt giving him more to look at than she realized she was showing.

"This is the third night in four days you've been here, Phillip," Deirdre spoke, "what's the matter?"

"She's doing the kid thing again," the man, Phillip, replied, "She took them to her mom's for the week. Wants me to 'reassess the situation' and get back to her with an answer by the time she gets back,"

"An answer to what?"

"Fuck if I know,"

Deirdre slumped her shoulders, expressing her disapproval with his language before standing back up.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, but she seems like she needs some time off from you. I'm just saying. Let her have her fun with her mom, and don't bother her. And do something really nice for her when she gets back,"

"You don't even know, Deirdre," Phillip said, and she shrugged and walked away. As Phillip took another gulp of his drink, he noticed that the seat next to him was no longer empty. When he looked over, there was a blonde woman drinking from a beer mug. She was looking at him - out of the corner of her eye, yes, but she was still looking.

"Hey there," she said, smiling and revealing a bright, beautiful white smile. Phillip looked over at Deirdre, and Deirdre shook her head at him.

"Wanna dance?" she asked.

"No thanks,"

"Oh, come on, you've been sitting here all night. Relieve some tension. We both need a little fun right now anyway," she told him. He briefly thought about it in his head.

"True enough. But no thanks,"

"Ugh, you're no fun. Come on, dude, live a little. I overheard that your wife is out of town?"

"Okay, look, I'm serious. I'm not interested in anything you have to offer, so just leave me alone," Phillip said, standing from the stool and making his way toward the door, leaving the blonde woman at the bar. After the door had shut behind him, Deirdre came closer.

"Leave that one alone, Bailey. He's a good guy," Deirdre told the blonde, who looked up at her and smirked.

"Did you not see how he was looking at you? I give that marriage another three weeks before it comes crashing down. Just wait,"

"Do you have the Mankeys?"

"Do you have the money?"

Deirdre glanced from side to side, to make sure no one was watching, and gestured for Bailey to follow her into a back room. Bailey lifted her bag onto her shoulder and disappeared through the door behind the bar, following the dark woman closely. They stopped at a desk in the corner of the storeroom, with one locked drawer.

"You'd make a terrific asset to the team if you came on full-time, Miss," Deirdre complimented while pulling out a small key ring, with a single tiny key dangling from the gleaming metal. She inserted the key into an equally small lock and it dropped to the floor, to Deirdre's dissatisfaction. As she bent to scoop it up, Bailey pulled open the drawer and saw a small purse sitting in the dusty wooden space, with a plastic label stuck on the outside, and on the label, Bailey's name in red lettering.

"I'm still not sure. For whatever reason, none of you guys will tell me anything about the job, other than the employer. If there's no regular salary, then there's no point in me joining, because I can get by selling my catches to you. If there is one, then I need to know how much. If I can make more by working at the Pokémart, then I could just go do that and not have to worry about any of this illegal shit that you guys pull,"

She reached into the drawer and grabbed the small purse, pulling on the zipper and opening it to reveal a stack of bills. After counting it out to make sure that all of her catches were accounted for, she dumped her Poké Balls into the drawer.

"I can't give you any more information than you already have, Bailey, I'm sorry. I need a yes or a no,"

"Then I'll withhold my decision,"

"That's your choice, then. Whenever you have an answer, contact me or any of my co-workers. You know how to find us,"

"Yeah, I know. Even if I didn't it wouldn't be hard. You guys are everywhere. Just gotta know what kind of places you guys hang out at – and who doesn't – and look for the shady guy in the corner with the bright blue contact lenses,"

"I'll see you soon, then," Deirdre said, and Bailey exited the room, waving a hearty "ta-ta" and she dug her fingers through the soft mound of threaded money inside the silk bag. She stuffed it into her purse and left the building. As her steps plodded against the concrete, she heard the tinkling of a bike bell and she turned, narrowly twisting to dodge two children – at least, they looked like children – speeding toward her. One was swatting at the other's backpack and Bailey glared at them, not that they noticed. A small piece of paper fluttered to the sidewalk as they rounded the corner and a gust of wind lifted it, influencing its drift in her direction. As it breezed past, she caught a glimpse of the heading.

_Take the Pokémon League Challenge!_

The picture of a red Poké Ball was printed below those words, and surrounding it were the many reasons to take part in the trial. _Fame, Fortune, Travel to exotic locales, meet new and exciting people, defeat the Elite Four, become a Pokémon Master! _These were among the few Bailey had memorized the few times she had seen posters such as these. Her interest in pursuing the challenge had peaked in her early teens, but waned when she realized that the real money was in the not-entirely-legal underworld, selling the uncommon monsters that inhabited the tall grasses and tree limbs for a hefty fee. She was able to live the way she wanted, free. It was only now that she began to realize how little of her freedom she had used.

She shrugged to herself and walked down the windy road, whistling a catchy bluesy rock song she had heard in the bar.

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Author Notes: Can you believe that I've had about 95% of this chapter sitting on my hard drive for a couple of months now? If I had known I was so close to getting this done I would have sat down and finished it! Well, I guess I could say I'm back, but I don't want to get your hopes up. Just keep an eye out, I may be updating this very soon. Or, you know, not. I found the Pewter City bit of the game, up until Cerulean, to be a chore…so we'll see how I handle it.

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